When Friendship Dies
by Gibay
Summary: A valued friendship is endangered. Life in the wilderness is full of unexpected relationship. War is abound. Danger is lurking.
1. Disclaimer

When Friendship Dies : Disclaimer

Paula Davis is an incredible person. She has spend endless hours editing this story. I wrote it between February and May 2007. She revised, proofread and edited and was all together a strong and valued friend and collaborator. The plot is mine, the obstacles, the risks I took with the prologue is mine. But the cheers and the words of trust she has given me is above the duty of friendship. Where others will scream at the prologue, she went and asked and showed curiosity. I can only hope that anyone reading this complete story, posted in installments during the week of the 11 of June 2007 and the 19 of June of the same year, will have the open mind to realize what a plot device is and go forward and read more. I have put heart and soul into this story. So while Paula has worked hard at proofreading, I reminded potential readers that I am a native French speaker, that I wrote the story in English, that Paula helped to polish it, while keeping all the makes me this foreigner of English writer. All mistakes, mishaps and others are strictly mine and mine alone. All that is perfect is very likely Paula.

I want to thank Susie and Suzie. They know who they are. They know I value brickbats over flowers any time. Constructive critics are highly welcome. Flames are not.

As is my usual mode of rating - Violence is what I consider adult-theme and not family oriented. Death is violence. Shooting is violence. Shooting people in the back is highly violent.. Daniel Boone is a tv serie with a high mortality rate, a high violence content in my Quebecoise sensibility and values. So this story has the same rating as my vignettes and poems and of my first story.

I am writing the third story in the Daniel Boone universe. If you enjoy reading this one, somehow, it would also pleased me if you let me know. If you don't, let me know why, as long as you read until the end, so you can tell me why with the knowledge of the story behind you.

Johanne


	2. Prologue

Prologue

June 17th, 1777

Jemima Boone was sitting on the porch, talking with her friend Diana Crawford. The Crawfords were moving away. Diana and Jemima would probably never see one another again. Jemima was used to having people come in and out of her life, but Diana's leaving was hard on her. She had made her an apron as a parting gift and decorated it with embroidery representing the settlement. They were talking the afternoon away at the Crawford's cabin. As she saw the sun beginning to travel westward, Jemima knew she had to go. She hugged Diana and asked her to try to write as soon as she could. It was unlikely that news would reach them for months, but they aimed to try.

Jemima walked toward the fort; she would meet her mother at Cincinnatus' tavern. Rebecca was picking up supplies that Daniel had forgotten to bring last week. Her father and Mingo had gone hunting yesterday morning; Rebecca and Jemima were both surprised the men weren't back yet. The fields needed tending. Daniel wasn't too keen on farming, but he did the work when it was required.

The Crawfords' cabin was closer to the fort than their own; barely a 20 minute walk.

As she walked inside the fort, many ladies waved at her; she knew some would frown when they would see her entering the tavern by herself. It was fine when she went in with her mother or her father, but people talked when she went in alone. Jemima had her parents' view about stating and standing by her opinions and ways, so if these ladies though she was acting inappropriately, she couldn't be bothered to care about it.

She opened the door; the smell of her mother's cooking was heavy in the air. It was obvious they would eat supper here, before heading home.

Her mother saw her and, smiling, asked her. "Have you seen your brother outside?" Jemima hadn't. Mother and daughter shared a look.

There was no one else in the tavern; sunny days had menfolk in the fields and many women helping them. Cincinnatus was cleaning behind the counter.

The door opened yet again. Mingo walked in. Jemima smiled in welcome. "Hello, Mingo, Pa with you? When did you get back?"

The tall Indian had left the door opened behind him; he turned toward Jemima's voice and glared at her. He stood in the middle of the room radiating anger. He went to Jemima in three long strides, grabbed her by the hair, slapped her face viciously and slammed her hard into the table.

"Don't move!" he barked harshly to the young woman.

Rebecca cried loudly, "What's wrong with you? What are you doing to Jemima?" as she went to check on her daughter.

Cincinnatus couldn't believe his eyes, but nevertheless grabbed the handgun he kept underneath his counter, charged and ready, and screamed at Mingo to stand where he was.

Mingo took two steps toward Rebecca, grabbed her shoulders strongly, stared her straight in the eyes and ripped her dress, plunging his hand straight into her bodice. He tried to lift her skirts up as he pushed her into the table.

He heard the hammer of Cincinnatus' gun and said in a threatening tone, without even turning his head, "Cincinnatus, I can snap her neck in 10 seconds. I suggest that you lower your gun, and she will live through it. Just watch. It is about time this woman learned what a real man is like."


	3. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sunlight entered the tavern through the open door. Rebecca Boone's screaming could be heard loud and clear on the sunny quiet day in mid June.

Cincinnatus left his gun on the counter, making noise enough, making sure Mingo heard it. He couldn't stand by, and have harm come to Rebecca Boone or her daughter. The Indian, who was her husband's best friend, who had protected her many times, was now the worst threat of her life. Cincinnatus hurried out from behind his counter, into the middle of his tavern. Jemima shook herself more aware and seeing Mingo's actions, started screaming as loud as her mother. She rose from where she lay to try to force Mingo away from her mother.

Mingo let go of Rebecca, and swatted Jemima with the back of his hand, sending her crashing to the floor. He batted at her as if she was nothing more than an annoying insect.

Jemima didn't utter a sound, although she had a split, bleeding lip. She started to crawl toward the door.

Rebecca clawed Mingo's arms as much as she could; he was taller, stronger, but she was fierce and very angry. Mingo tried to lift her skirts; he was still holding her down on the table with his left arm.

A voice boomed suddenly inside the tavern, "Let her go now. You're a dead man." Daniel's abrasive tone left no room from misinterpretation.

Behind Daniel, Israel rushed in. He took in the whole scene, saw his sister crawling on all fours, his mother's dress torn, and Mingo's hand going to his Ma's throat. Israel immediately turned into as fierce a combatant as his father ever was. "Let Ma go, you filthy Injun, or I'll kill you! Pa, shoot him! Kill him now, Pa!"

Jemima got up quickly, and half-lifting, half-pushing Israel ahead of her, she took him outside, where a crowd of onlookers was gathering

Daniel repeated more loudly, "You have 5 seconds to live. Let her go. Now!"

Mingo removed his hand, very slowly, from inside Rebecca's dress and turned toward Daniel. "Five seconds you say, Daniel. But I'm still alive. Ain't I?" There was mockery in the false accent Mingo used. "You cannot kill me, I'm family, and I'm your brother. Brothers share alike, Daniel. You have not shared much with me, brother. You have been a bad brother. Time for things to change now, brother."

His hand tightened around Rebecca's neck. Then he let go and hit Rebecca so hard, she fell down in a heap. He stared Daniel down, who was so worried for his wife that he went straight to her, lowering his gun, ignoring her assailant.

Mingo started to laugh as he walked out of the tavern.

He went right through the onlookers, his whip out, daring anyone to challenge him. He walked right out of the fort, to the scream of Israel's hateful words of revenge.

No one had done anything to stop him.

Everyone knew this was a job that belonged only to Daniel Boone.

Daniel spoke to no one. He picked up his wife, his daughter, Tick Licker, and he called to Israel. Together, the Boones left the fort and headed home.

They left behind them a settlement agitated beyond belief.

Cincinnatus served hot tea and strong ale to everyone, nodding his head, unable to speak. He kept turning the last few moments every which way possible - the fact remained and nothing changed them. Mingo had walked in, hit Jemima for no reason and tried to … he couldn't even think about it, it was just too much, too unbelievable, for the old tavern keeper.

"Israel, two buckets of water inside, quickly!" ordered Daniel as soon as they reached the cabin.

Mother and daughter ran into Rebecca's and Daniel's bedroom, Jemima was crying, hurting and the two women needed to comfort one another in a way that Daniel couldn't.

He started a fire and when Israel brought the water, he filled a clean kettle with one of the buckets. He could at least provide his women with warm water to wash. He kept the second bucket so they could use the cooler water to soothe their bruising.

Israel was still raging "You goin' to kill him, Pa? You have to kill him. Everyone saw what he did. I saw what he did. He has to die, Pa."

Emotions were rapidly overwhelming the small boy, barely seven. He was so deeply attached to Mingo, and now he kept wishing him dead; it was producing raw pain in his soul. He started to cry and went toward his father's strong arms for reassurance, perhaps for understanding. "Why, Pa? Why did Mingo do this?

Daniel had no words for his son.

June 19th, 1777, two days later.

William Hartford and his son Henry arrived in Boonesborough two days later. They had bought the Crawfords' cabin and land when old man Crawford had passed the word around that he wanted out of a settler's life.

The settlement was still abuzz with rumors and gossip; the Boone women attacked in the heart of the fort by a man they had trusted for more than a year. "Savages" were never to be trusted. Bad blood was running wild and many were quite willing to launch a lynch party, and help Daniel Boone on his hunt.

Daniel had gone to the fort, while Hartford was himself getting fresh supplies, to get more powder and to calm everyone down. He came with another Indian, a man he introduced only as the warrior sent by Menewa. The two of them would hunt Mingo and bring him back. Daniel was firm – this was a responsibility and a job he would do himself. He had agreed to Menewa's terms only because of the treaty between the settlers and the Cherokees. It was obvious to everyone that if he could leave the Indian behind on the trail, he would. Mingo was his. And anyone trying to get in his way would be sorry.

The Hartfords' arrival gave everyone fuel for the fire. The farmers and settlers of Boonesborough had plenty to talk about around their supper tables. Cincinnatus' tavern was filled every night.

Daniel tried to be as welcoming as possible. However, he left Cincinnatus in charge of most of it. He took the older man aside and asked him to look in on his wife and his children. Rebecca refused to move to the fort during Daniel's absence; she didn't want to face the gossip and pity she was expecting. Furthermore, Jemima had a lot of bruises that she didn't want people to see. So after making sure that Cincinnatus would be there for his family, Daniel left Boonesborough armed with anger and once more, with an Indian warrior at his side.

Rain Cloud was an old friend of Mingo's. He was the first to openly befriend the man who had returned from England thirteen years before. Rain Cloud had helped Mingo a lot during his first few hunts; he taught him many of the ways, forgotten in the land of his white father. Everyone in the tribe welcomed their lost member, but Rain Cloud made sure that Mingo reacquainted himself with all the traditions. Mingo had seen him court and marry Bright Rainbow, had seen the joy and pride when his daughters were born. So it was just and fair that Rain Cloud been given the task of bringing home the one who brought dishonor to the tribe.

They left at mid-day. Daniel stopped at home long enough to embrace his wife and daughter, to admonish Israel to protect and listen to his Ma and to mind his manners. Becky's bruises were turning yellowish, but Jemima's were still very dark blue; she didn't like going outdoors for fear of being seen.

Rain Cloud was quiet, his English was passable. He was an excellent tracker; given everything he knew about Mingo, Daniel had no doubts about it.

They started hunting.

June 24th, 1777, morning - 5 days later

Rain Cloud was a quiet companion. He trekked in silence, ate in silence, slept silently. Daniel felt as if the man was a shadow at his side. It helped him accept his presence. Rain Cloud was shorter by a head, but his stride was as quick and as steadfast as Daniel's. His eyes were very dark and very secretive.

They followed a trail that led them north, encountering few people. They found a corpse in a ditch, a strong Wyandot man, in the prime of his life with a bullet hole straight through the heart. He had been left to rot as if he was a warning of painful things to come. They stopped long enough to bury him and to scout around the area. Who had done this and why? Daniel and Rain Cloud knew the marks of Mingo's footprints. There was no doubt in their mind that he had done the deed. The Mingo they knew would never have left a dead man to suffer such degradation, left to the elements and animals of the forests.

According to Rain Cloud, Mingo was just a little ahead of them, alone.

Their nights were short. They slept in turns, walking endlessly during the day, eating only because they had to.

They were hunting the man who had been their best friend. There were no words to share and no time to waste.

The task and the duty were encompassing everything. The hunt was on, and neither would turn back until the hunted was found.


	4. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

May 29th, 1777 - 3 weeks before.

"Mingo, Mingo, there's a letter! Mingo, there's a letter for you!" Israel was running out of breath. He was searching for Mingo by the river, where he had a small camp. Mingo had eaten breakfast with them, after a week of hunting with Daniel. They had come back in the very early dawn, exhausted from walking all night.

Cincinnatus stopped by the Boones' cabin as soon as he could. He was curious as a cat; it was, after all, the first time he had received a letter for Mingo. Just the name and Boonesborough on the seal. Mingo, Boonesborough. Whoever had sent this letter couldn't possibly be certain that Mingo would get it.

Daniel was chopping wood when Cincinnatus arrived, but Mingo was nowhere to be seen. Rebecca offered him a cup of tea while Israel was sent to deliver the letter to Mingo. Israel knew where Mingo made camp in the summer: by the river, 15 minutes away from their home.

Israel found Mingo there sitting on a rock, a line in the water, inattentive to it. The Cherokee was obviously enjoying the solitude and the sounds of the forest all around him. Israel didn't notice any of this, his excitement growing now that he was within sight of the letter's recipient.

"Israel, what did you say? A letter for me? Did I hear you correctly?" asked Mingo.

"Sit here with me and watch the line while I read this letter, will you?" he asked the child, knowing Israel would not leave anyway.

"Mingo, you gonna tell me about the letter?" Israel was all curiosity.

"Perhaps," was Mingo's answer. He lifted the wax seal easily with his fingers and opened the thin parchment within. As he read he frowned deeply, and smiled suddenly. There was joy in his eyes.

"Israel, an old friend of mine wishes to see me. A friend from a long time ago, before I knew your father," Mingo told the child. "Let's go see your father. I want to speak with him."

Israel lifted the line out of the water and let it lie in the bushes. Together, child and Indian walked toward the Boones.

"I didn't mean to be back so soon, Rebecca. I meant to go home, with a few fish for my supper," Mingo said sheepishly, as she was hanging clothes on the line outside.

"Well, we are all curious about this letter of yours, Mingo, not just Israel here. Daniel's inside with Cincinnatus," Becky said.

Mingo nodded, stepped onto the porch, and knocked once, before hearing Daniel's voice bid him welcome.

Cincinnatus was still sipping very cold tea; there was no way he would leave until he heard as much as possible about this letter. The older man seriously doubted that Mingo would share the contents of his letter, but it didn't deter him from hoping to learn something.

"Cincinnatus, Daniel!" Mingo called as he walked in, "Cincinnatus, Israel told me you made a special trip to deliver a letter. Thank you. Daniel, if I may have a word with you?"

Cincinnatus had no more reason to stay, he was politely dismissed. So he stood up, and graciously, if not happily, left Mingo and Daniel to their conversation.

As Cincinnatus left, both men waved. Mingo simply handed Daniel his letter.

"You sure you want me to read it? It's in your name, private and all," said Daniel.

"It will be easier than trying to explain," replied the Cherokee. "Henry is an old friend I never expected to hear from again," Mingo beamed.

Daniel looked up at him, Mingo was very pleased about this letter. He opened the folded piece of paper and read it silently.

"Well, Mingo, he knew you when you were dressing slightly different, am I right?" asked Daniel, knowing that if Mingo trusted him enough to let him read the letter, he would learn a little more about his friend's past. "And he intends to meet with you, shortly?" He waved a hand towards Mingo's clothes, hair, feathers. "Are you ready for him to see you as a Cherokee warrior?"

Mingo shook his head, "" Don't you think he sounds willing to accept me as I am?

"I think he sounds like he needs a trustworthy Indian for some reason."

"Well, that would be fine with me. What about you, Daniel?"

"Henry Hartford, son of Colonel Hartford. I believe I met the Colonel once. He was demanding but fair. When do you want to leave?" Daniel didn't hesitate.

"You just got home. Would two days be too early?" asked Mingo.

"We'll leave tomorrow afternoon. I'm very curious to meet this old friend of yours and find out why he needs the two of us, on behalf of his father."

The next afternoon, Daniel and Mingo left together. They would meet Henry Hartford in a camp he had prepared in a valley one day south of Boonesborough.


	5. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

June 1, 1777 – 16 days before.

Henry Hartford arrived at the rendezvous point an hour ahead of time. He was a tall, nervous man, with blond hair and green eyes, in his mid-thirties, dressed as a woodsman. Colonel Hartford had requested another volunteer for this mission but Henry had insisted on volunteering for reasons known only to himself.

Mingo was right on time, however.

They gave each other a long, meaningful stare. Mingo finally smiled and extended his hand, "Henry, how are you?"

Henry smiled back, and clasped Mingo's hand. "You've changed a lot since we last shook hands, _Mingo._"

"Yes, things happen in life. I am a happy man now. I lead the life my mother would have wanted me to lead. How long have you been in America, Henry?" inquired Mingo.

"I left England in 1767, three years after you. I finished my studies in Oxford, became an engineer. My mother died a year before I came back but Father didn't send for me. He wanted me to finish my studies. He is now a Colonel in the Continental Army. Since Father drafted me into his regiment 6 years ago, I have done more spying than engineering. When one of his lieutenants came to Boonesborough and heard of an Indian friend of Daniel Boone, with an accent like mine, I felt it could only have been you, old friend." Henry hesitated. "I must call you 'Mingo', mustn't I?"

Mingo smiled readily, realizing that the friendship could not be re-established so easily. "It's who I am, who I was even when you knew me as a white man's son."

"Not just a white man's son, Chr-- Mingo. The man I knew was a lord's son, with a duty to the title." Bitterness crept into Henry's tone.

"I am Mingo, son of Talota, Cherokee princess; that's who I am, Henry. I hope you can learn to accept me as you did when we studied together, in our room in Oxford," Mingo said firmly.

A silence followed. Henry had to choose whether to end or renew the friendship.

"Do you still like Shakespeare?" An overture was made from one white man to a Cherokee brave.

"Yes, I do. I haven't much opportunity to read, but I do remember his work fondly. If you have any books in your pack, I'll gladly read them," Mingo offered.

Laugher was shared, as they remembered a time already ancient to both men.

"Daniel Boone will be here shortly, as you requested. He wanted to allow us a few moments together."

Daniel arrived less than an hour later, bringing food, entering the small camp whistling cheerfully. He didn't know how the encounter between Mingo and his old friend from Oxford would turn out.

When he saw the two men sitting on the ground, and exchanging friendly words, he was glad. It meant that Mingo was probably having a good time. Daniel often felt that Mingo's time in England hadn't been pleasant.

Mingo and Henry rose as they heard Daniel coming. There was a small fire; Mingo knew Daniel would bring food with him. Mingo introduced the two men. They shook hands and Henry, opening his bandoleer, offered Daniel a letter.

"From my father, Mr. Boone, for both of you. My father remembers you and how you led men before. We need both of you to help," said Henry as he passed the missive to the tall Kentuckian.

Mingo skinned the rabbit and readied it for cooking, while Daniel read the letter.

After Mingo had put the meat to grill, he read the letter as well.

"Will you help the Continental Army, gentlemen?" Henry had no idea how the two men would react. He didn't recognize the Cherokee man sitting across him, far removed from the British nobleman he had known in his youth.

"It's been proven? " asked Daniel."You know this to be true?"

"There is no doubt about it, Mr. Boone. The British are getting ready to move troops toward Washington. They are counting on a tribe of savages in the--" Henry stopped himself, realizing his mistake. "I meant to say that a tribe of renegade Indians are helping them; I meant no disrespect, Mingo." Henry finished.

They made no comment. Daniel knew that Mingo had an incredible capacity for ignoring insults, shrugging them off, dismissing them as if they had never occurred. It was hard for Daniel to ignore insults to his Cherokee friend, but he had learned not to try to deflect them.

Henry went on, "These renegades helping the British seem to be made up of warriors from different tribes. From what we know, they are outlaws even to their own. They attack here, or raid there and their dress or weapons point to a specific tribe, usually one which has been peaceful. Then skirmishes, more raids, attacks, and peace is broken between the local whites and Indians." Henry stopped again, taking a sip of the coffee that Mingo had brewed.

"Mingo, I didn't know you could cook! You couldn't do any of this in Oxford!" Henry laughed and the ice was broken. Daniel and Mingo relaxed.

"Well, he ain't been doing it so well or for as long as you think, Henry," added Daniel.

Mingo simply ignored Daniel and nudged Henry to continue.

They learned that many small wars and raids were occurring all through the New England colonies that were now part of the new United States; that many of the white folks wanted war, wanted peace treaties broken. There were some battles fought between British forces and Continental Army regiments in the Lake Champlain area. To top it all, the militia and the Continental Army were receiving requests to protect many villages and settlements; they were being weakened by the constant traveling, and the constant fights. The renegade tribe was constantly attacking. They seemed never to lack warriors. The newly founded States and its army were being spread thin, providing men and money to arm the regiments and militia.

Colonel Hartford wanted Mingo to infiltrate the tribe and for Daniel to find the pattern of their plan. The Continental Army needed to disrupt the renegades, and to find out what the British were hoping to gain.

Would they help?

The two Kentuckians shared a look.

Of course, they would.

June 9, 1777, 8 days before

They were to meet with William Hartford in Merrick Town, a small village, two days east of the Shawnee territories. Mingo was quieter than usual on the trail. When his past resurfaced, it was never easy for Mingo to reminisce, to share any of it. He had learned that Daniel never judged, never questioned but accepted him as he was. Daniel teased often but always respected him.

Daniel shot a fair sized turkey and they shared the meal quietly. Days were much longer now, the temperature pleasant. They had walked at least 20 miles more than usual. Mingo spread his blanket on a rock near the fire; the ground was slightly damp from a small shower. Though he loved sleeping outdoors, a wet night never appealed to him. Once his blanket would be warm enough, he would lay it on the dry leaves he had gathered when they made camp an hour earlier. Daniel didn't laugh at his Indian friend - he had done the same for Daniel. They would sleep very well tonight under the stars.

"I know you won't tell me if you don't want to, but I'll ask anyway. Are you happy with your reunion with Henry? What kind of friendship did you share that he knew you were an Indian, not just a lord's son?" asked Daniel quietly.

Mingo wiped his hand on his trousers, and poured them each a cup of coffee. He looked Daniel straight in the eye. "Henry was the first and only lad I felt I could confide in. We shared the same tutor when we were about 11 or 12. I had learned English by then, but my manners still left something to be desired for a lord's son, as you described me. Father had hidden my true identity from the world. His old friend, Edward Cristham, told him that his estranged daughter's son had arrived in London to be educated, and asked if his grandson could share the same tutor. Cristham feared Henry's upbringing had been lax, living the colonial life." Mingo stopped, taking a careful sip of his coffee. He knew Daniel would listen and not ask anymore than he was willing to give him.

Daniel drank his coffee slowly. He checked the blankets; they were warm, so he spread them on the bed of leaves Mingo had made earlier. Daniel stretched his long legs out in front of him, leaning back on the log they would use as a pillow.

"Henry didn't want to be in England either, he didn't know this man he was supposed to call grandfather. He was as lost then as I was still after nearly 2 years in my father's home," continued the Cherokee in a very low voice. This confidence would be shared once, and once only.

Daniel nodded. He was listening. And he wanted Mingo to know he was his friend.

"I learned early that I was never to tell who I was, who my mother was, where I came from. Father told of an American wife who died giving birth and that a colonial family had raised me in his long absence. I had to maintain the lie. But when Henry came to my study room, and he told of America, of his life there, all those memories of my childhood flooded back. Henry was a white man's son but he lived a life that had more in common with mine that those of our elders. I didn't tell him right away; the fear of punishment was ever present in my life. At least on Father's estate, there were gardens that I could run in and enjoy if I studied hard enough. They learned soon enough what depriving me of the outside did to me." Mingo stopped once more.

Daniel didn't expect him to continue. So he got up to extinguish the fire, waved goodnight, and laid his long rifle by his arm.

Perhaps, one day, Mingo would be able to tell all about England.

June 11th, Six days before

They saw the wooden tower in the distance, with smoke rising. Merrick Town was a much smaller settlement than Boonesborough. It was a place to stop and get foodstuffs, to rest and get some basic supplies. A few people had built homes and were tending fields. Neither were surprised when a man lifted his rifle at their approach.

Daniel lowered his own rifle and called out, "My name is Daniel Boone. I am expected in the tavern."

The man lowered his rifle as well and came toward them, "I'm Lt. McTavish, sir. Sorry for the welcome and my lack of proper uniform. Colonel Hartford doesn't want me to be known as a soldier. He's waiting for you."

«This is my friend Mingo; he's also expected», Daniel said in introduction.

The three men went directly to the small tavern. They crossed the threshold and followed the young lieutenant. McTavish approached an elderly man, also dressed as a woodsman, and addressed him quite formally.

«Sir, Mr. Boone and his friend Mr. Mingo are here.»

Daniel quickly put everyone at ease. «Daniel will do».

Mingo added to the introduction «And 'Mingo' is enough for me as well, sir».

Lieutenant McTavish showed no surprise at hearing Mingo's accent, so he was obviously in the know.

«Daniel, Mingo, I can't thank you enough. Has my son has told you everything and given you my letter?" asked the Colonel.

«Yes, sir. But if you have more information to share with us, we'd be grateful, sir. What you're asking of Mingo worries me. He's an old friend of mine, and I wouldn't want harm to come to him," said Daniel.

«Daniel, I can take care of myself,» admonished Mingo.

«So, Mingo, you were a classmate of my son in England? Why did you chose this life?» asked the colonel bluntly, waving his arm at Mingo's clothing and hair.

«I was born Cherokee, sir. I was but a child when my mother died and my father took me to his home and had me educated in the way of his forefathers. But I am Cherokee and I came back to live my life here, as it was meant to be.» Mingo was as proud as ever.

The innkeeper came bearing a jug of ale and three mugs.

«Mr. Jones, there are four of us here,» said the old officer.

«There's water outside at the well if he be thirsty. But I don't serve Injuns.» The ignorance and utter lack of civility from the tavern keeper dismayed McTavish, who was willing to come forth and defend Mingo's honor.

Mingo said quite politely, «I will take a mug, Mr. Jones.»

The middle-aged man looked the tall Indian up and down and repeated slowly, «I don't serve the likes of you and won't."

«I will take a mug and share ale with these friends of mine,» Mingo's tone was hard and serious.

Daniel smirked. He knew exactly what Mingo was capable of. He simply leaned his tall frame against the tavern door and let his friend handle the situation. He kept his eyes on young McTavish. The young officer might feel an obligation to defend Mingo, and Daniel wanted to make sure the young officer would stay put. He extended an arm and pushed McTavish to his side, murmuring words to stand still.

The colonel sat at the long wooden table and watched both men's interaction.

«I don't serve the likes of you in my own tavern. You can all go if you don't like it.» The man was nearly as tall as Mingo, freshly shaven, with strong, hard arms. A noteworthy opponent, unwilling to let go of his prejudice, and willing to lose money and business rather than serve an Indian, he had hard steel gray eyes that bored straight into Mingo, without backing down.

Mingo quickly grabbed the man's vest, and said quietly, «I will take ale in a mug and I will sit at this table with my friends», he stared straight back and added politely, «Please, Sir!"

The next ten seconds were long for the young lieutenant. Daniel held him firmly.

Then the tavern keeper said «Of course, Mingo. I will bring a fresh clean mug to the table. Please sit down and accept my apology. Colonel, are you satisfied?"

McTavish, Daniel and Mingo turned at once toward Colonel Hartford.

He smiled mischievously «Gentlemen, may I introduce my aide-de-camp, Lieutenant James Atwater, who was simply obeying my orders."

Mingo let go of James Atwater, and smiled. «Testing my reaction, I would assume. Did I pass your test, Colonel?»

«With flying colors, Mingo. The man my son knew isn't what I am looking for. I need an Indian, a strong- willed individual, but an Indian first. And willing to do what must be done to fulfill our mission," the colonel didn't apologize.

Daniel let go of McTavish, clapped Mingo on the shoulder and poured him a mug of ale. Daniel waited for the last mug to arrive to pour his own. He sat down and asked Colonel Hartford to explain in detail what was expected of them.

McTavish sat beside Mingo, obviously in awe.

Daniel and Mingo looked at one another and started to laugh.

Their laughter was rich, powerful, full of friendship.

It would not come as easily in the weeks to come.


	6. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

June 13, 1777 – Four days before.

"Mingo, there ain't no other way," insisted Daniel, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Oh, but there is, Daniel; there is. We will figure it out together, with sharp thinking. And we will most certainly not use this foolhardy plan of yours!" answered the Cherokee sternly. Mingo was disturbed by Daniel's insistence that his way was the only way to go.

"Fine, fine, you want to find a better way, let's look at our options - again, you stubborn Cherokee," insisted Daniel. His tone made it clear he believed his plan was best.

"What would I need to do that would completely, utterly destroy your faith in me, that would make you hunt me, wish for my death? Answer, Mingo. Tell me!" Daniel said impatiently.

Before Mingo could open his mouth, Daniel went on, "I would need to kill Menewa in front of you. I would need to burn your friend Rain Cloud's lodge, while his wife and his two young daughters were sleeping in it - and still you would need to see me do it. I would need to dig the peace tree out, send a militia into Chota, with me leading it, and scalping the children in front of you. Those are the real options you would have for hating me, for destroying our friendship, in your eyes. Ain't I right?"

Still Daniel would not stop and let Mingo speak. "And I can't do these things, now can I? Or would any of this be acceptable for what we want to achieve? You would let me kill your friend's family for the sake of this mission? Would you, Mingo?"

Mingo tried to stop the flow of words. Daniel had never spoken so fast, as if spinning words that way could convince the Cherokee. Mingo was so upset that he had not been able to eat any of the midday meal.

"And now, Mingo, how could it be said that Daniel Boone would sever his bond, his friendship to his Cherokee brother? Give me options, my friend! I am listenin'!"

"You know I'm right. You need to join the renegades and to be accepted as one of them. And I need a reason to hunt you down, all the way to Canada and by hurting 'Mima, and being violent to Becky, in front of everyone, it's the only way, Mingo, the only way. I spoke to both of them. They agreed with my plan, they will help, it's doable, Mingo. You can do it. They can do it." At last Daniel stopped talking, threw the piece of wood on the fire. He hadn't eaten either; the rabbits were burned beyond eating by now.

"I have an idea then, Daniel. _What if you send Israel to his friend Joshua for the day? _You can hit your wife and your daughter; they can tell everyone in the settlement I did this." countered Mingo.

Daniel breathed slowly. He knew Mingo would be reluctant. He was himself reluctant. "It's the witnesses that will make the difference, Mingo. There will be word of mouth traveling through our wilderness, words that will save your hide, and make the cover safer."

It was hard on the two friends to think of what had to be done. What must be done.

Mingo lifted eyes, burdened beyond belief; Daniel stared at him. They shared a look. They knew then.

They would share the burden, along with their undying trust toward one another.

"I want to speak to Rebecca and to Jemima, privately." said Mingo, at last. He had thrown the charred food into the flame, but he did not move away.

"Of course you can. I'll take Israel with me tomorrow morning to check our snares; you'll have all the time in the world with them." Daniel was back to his normal speech pattern. He was as exhausted as Mingo was burdened.

"They have read Colonel Hartford's letter?" murmured Mingo, quietly.

"No, I thought we would read it together, but I gave them the reasons behind my plan. They know most of it, except for Israel, that is."

"Israel! Israel is going to hate me, and he will never forgive me for this deception!" Mingo said aloud what Daniel had known since he had spoken to his wife and daughter.

"Israel can't be a part of this. He couldn't play his part; he could never play-act hating you as fiercely as he will, by not knowin'." There, Daniel had said it. It would not remain between them.

Mingo shared another long look with Daniel. In silence, they got up and headed toward Daniel's home.

Supper was not a lively affair. Mingo pushed his food around on his plate, Daniel ate only half his own. Jemima barely put any food on hers. Rebecca insisted that things look normal; she kept glaring at both men, who never seemed to catch her message. Israel kept asking aloud what was wrong with Mingo, whose appetite in the household was well known. Mingo smiled a little and Daniel teased, trying to get a retort from the Cherokee. Daniel managed to fool his son, who went to play outside after supper while the two women cleaned up. Israel tried to get Mingo's attention but the Cherokee sat on the porch, looking at the sun setting.

Everyone was relieved when Israel went off to sleep.

Mingo accepted a last cup of tea from Rebecca, watching her intently while she prepared the hot beverage. She was her usual hospitable, friendly self, without a care in the world, now that her family was all around her, safe and sound. Jemima was also very natural and came to wish him good night.

Daniel refused the tea, and left his wife and Mingo at the table together while he went outside, checking his fields, the wood pile and bringing a bucket of fresh water inside. He wondered if they would talk while he was gone; Mingo and Rebecca had a deep affection for each other. But Mingo was very remote since he had heard of Daniel's plan.

Mingo wished them good night; he told Rebecca he would come later in the morning, after Daniel and Israel departed. He would sleep closer to the river, not fifteen minutes away from the cabin; he rarely stayed inside with the Boones.

Once alone, Daniel embraced his wife and kissed her cheek. "Will you be all right, Becky? Mingo doesn't want to go through with it."

"I know, Daniel. He and I will discuss it tomorrow; it'll be fine. I trust Mingo."

"I do too, Becky. With your life and 'Mima's." He couldn't let go of his wife.

June 14, 1777, three days before

Rebecca was mending one of Daniel's shirts. She usually did her mending at night, but she was waiting for Mingo's arrival. Her husband and her son had left the cabin at dawn and the morning's chores were done. There were still many of the daily chores to attend, but Jemima was fidgety and, if she were honest, so was she. Sewing kept her fingers busy. She wondered, for at least the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, what was taking Mingo so long.

"Mima, put some water to boil, will you?" she asked. A cup of tea would do just fine right now.

A timid knock at the door had Jemima changing tasks. "Mingo?" asked the young girl.

"Yes, it is I; may I come in, Jemima?" responded Mingo.

Mingo never entered Daniel's cabin without knocking, but his politeness didn't do _much _to reduce the women's nervousness.

Jemima smiled at the tall dark-haired man, as he bent his head under the lintel. She couldn't help wondering one more time why no one ever thought to build higher doors during cabin raisings. Between her pa and his friend, there was absolutely no door they could enter standing tall.

"I'm making tea, Mingo; will you have some with Ma and me?"

Mingo nodded and tried to smile back at Daniel's lovely daughter, whom he cherished so much.

He sat on the bench closest to the fireplace. It was a warm summer day, clear sky, with a very cool breeze. Rebecca had the windows open, to allow fresh air inside.

Rebecca put her mending away and sat with him at the end of the table. She wanted to let him have time to form his thoughts. They waited in silence, while Jemima made tea and got a platter of Mingo's favorite cookies. It was much too early for such a treat, but anything to ease the tension would work. Jemima would be as good a hostess as her mother when she reached adulthood.

Jemima sat on the other bench at last, facing Mingo. They waited for Mingo to help himself to his tea; he smiled awkwardly, and taking a cookie said, "Did you make these for me, Rebecca? They're still warm."

Molasses cookies were his favorite. White man's tastes, he called his addiction to coffee and Rebecca's molasses cookies.

Rebecca smiled and took a cookie as well with her tea. Jemima didn't touch her own cup.

At last, Mingo said, "Has Daniel spoken of his plan to you?"

Rebecca nodded and waited.

"He told you why?"

Another nod.

"And you agreed to this?"

A slight hesitation, but another nod. This time, Jemima moved her head with her mother in agreement. Rebecca extended her hand to her daughter; mother and daughter were in this together.

"He .." Mingo had a hard time with what he needed to say, "Did he say that I would hurt you? That I would behave like a 'savage'?"

"Mingo, he has asked, we have agreed. You will hit Jemima and throw her down." Rebecca turned to her daughter.

"I don't fear you, Mingo. I know how important it is. I worry for you, but Pa says it's the only way people will believe the feud between you two. If I can help this way, I will. Pa said this will keep you safe. Hit me real hard, Mingo, and I will take it. I ain't scared of you, and I never could be." She sounded so much like Daniel. She would do her part to help. She suddenly looked like a grown woman who had a duty to perform and who believed in it.

He extended his hand across the table and put it above the joined hands of Rebecca and Jemima.

"Thank you, Jemima, for trusting me so. May I ask your forgiveness in advance for this hurt I will do to you?"

Rebecca understood so much of the pain Mingo felt. Last night, Daniel had held her so tight.

Jemima smiled at Mingo and said « It was my idea to bake you cookies this morning. I don't have to forgive you, Mingo. I always feel safe around you. We'll all do this together. »

Mingo turned to Rebecca, still holding on to the women's hands.

"Rebecca, how can I possibly do what Daniel asked?"

"Because Jemima and I will fix everything, and it will be easier on us both". She took another sip of tea and smiled, trying to give Mingo a better outlook on the events to come.

"First off, I'll wear extra petticoats under my skirts; you'll have to be careful when you lift them that no one notices them, but there won't be anything awkward between us. I'll wear so many clothes, all your hand will touch is cloth. Does this make you feel better?"

Mingo simply listened, his tea was cold, his cookie by the saucer untouched. He was turning grey around the ears.

"I've picked the dress I'll wear; once you rip the cloth away," she pointed to her left shoulder where she felt Mingo should grab her, "the dress will have extra stitching on the inside, tight stitching. It will stop ripping at the point Jemima and I will decide on. There will be more fabric inside so that once you put your hand where no gentleman should, you still won't be touching me. All that will be within your reach, Mingo, will be clothes and more clothes. I'll scream, you'll push me around, you'll throw insults my way, shake me up; Jemima will be hit once, and will lay beside us. She'll grab her shawl to cover my dress as soon as Daniel intervenes. No one will realize how little the rip will be and how covered I'll be. It'll all work in the end. Bruises for Jemima and me. We can handle bruises, Mingo. And you will promise us to protect yourself and to be safe during this mission."

Mingo was stunned, and wondered why he should be. "I can do this now, looking at the courage you both have."

The three hands were still linked together ten minutes later when at last Jemima said, "Can I have my hand back?"

On that note, the three companions who would share pain together, started to laugh.

"Yes, I will let your hand go, if I can have some fresh tea. I should taste your cookies before your brother gets home!"

All would be well, or as well and as bad as events would be. Hell was in store for the three of them, so that Mingo could become the renegade he needed to be.


	7. Chapter 5

-1Chapter 5 

June 15, 2 days before, Chota.

Daniel and Mingo left early in the morning, after a hearty breakfast. They stopped at the fort first, telling everyone who would listen that they were going hunting for a couple of days. Actually, Daniel made all the speeches. Mingo, subdued at his side, was no quieter than normal. Only someone very close to the Cherokee could have told something was nagging at him.

They took a trail that led eastward. They walked for about an hour, quietly enjoying the beginning of a summer that was full of rich and sunny promise. Then they changed direction, and walked toward Mingo's village.

They arrived in Chota shortly before mid-day; some of the women were tending fires, where soups were simmering slowly, others were tending the fields, having already planted a few seeds. Many men were on the trails hunting; others were around, sharpening weapons or preening themselves. Mingo waved at some of his friends, stopped near a fire to check the contents of a cauldron and to exchange a few words with one of the elderly grandmothers.

Menewa was sitting with an elder, cleaning his rifle, having no more worries for the day than watching over the happy children running freely around him. Daniel approached him quietly, speaking softly in Cherokee while Mingo remained behind, exchanging sweet greetings with Morning Dew, Rain Cloud's younger daughter.

Daniel spoke a few banalities with the chief; until Mingo came to his side, there would be no serious discussion. Knowing Mingo and Menewa, the discussion might even take place later in the day. So Daniel sat down with Menewa, told him of his son and daughter, of his wife's good health, of the spring planting the settlers had begun, and listened to some of the good news Menewa had to share.

By the time Mingo joined them, some of the women were feeding the children and men present. Bright Rainbow came bearing two bowls, for Daniel and Mingo, while Menewa's adopted daughter, Tekawitha, brought some for the chief and the elder.

The four men ate in silence.

Once they finished eating, and Tekawitha carried their bowls away, Menewa at last said, "So, brother of my sister's son, your eyes betray you. What is troubling you?"

Daniel turned his head toward Mingo, awaiting a sign of acknowledgment. Mingo frowned a little, that was enough for Daniel.

"There is trouble brewing for the Americans. Some settlers are suffering constants raids from a warring tribe to the north, in the land closest to the sea."

"What concern is that of yours, Boone? And what concern is that of the Cherokee?" asked the leader of the peaceful Cherokee.

"We have been asked to help the Continental Army hunt down this tribe. They are renegades. But the settlers don't see it that way. They think all Indians, all tribes, want wars. We need to help fight them off," answered Daniel.

The elder sat silent with them, listening to all the explanations Daniel and Mingo gave.

Menewa was not happy. Mingo had expected it.

"Why should my sister's son dishonor our tribe so?" he asked Daniel Boone directly. His tone made it clear that he was not happy about the role Mingo had been asked to play.

"Mingo and I are brothers, Menewa. You know that and have known since the day he brought me here to discuss the terms of settling here in Kentucky. You have found me honest and honorable ever since, even in war. Only Mingo can betray me in such a way that my anger and my quest for revenge would be believable. Only Mingo and I can do this." Daniel tone was not forceful, he just made his points.

Mingo nodded, acknowledging Daniel's words.

"Let me speak to my council about this. Let me think on it tonight. You will stay in Mingo's lodge tonight. I will send Young Oak to your house so that your family will not worry about you."

Menewa rose, ending the conversation. The elder followed him.

Soon a council was smoking in Menewa's lodge. And Daniel followed Mingo into his lodge since there was nothing they could do anymore. They might as well sleep on it.

As dawn rose, so did the villagers, the elders and the children first; then the women and the men.

Menewa went to Mingo's fire; Daniel and he were sharing morning bread together. Mingo's hair was still wet from his early morning swim.

"Rain Cloud will hunt Mingo with you, Boone. He's his close friend and such would be the decision to redeem the Cherokee honor. Do you accept this term of the council of elders, white brother of my nephew?"

Menewa's decision was intelligent. Daniel and Mingo nodded their agreement.

"Mingo, you will speak to Rain Cloud. And Boone, you had better bring my nephew back to Chota alive and well. This is not a quest from which he should die." Menewa left the two friends to finish their breakfast. Mingo was relieved; with Rain Cloud at his side, plus the young officer McTavish, Daniel would be safe. That was all that mattered to the Cherokee.


	8. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 

Morning - June 18th, 1777 , the day after

They met near a river where they often fished together in early spring . Mingo arrived first and made a fire after setting a line in the water. When Daniel arrived and saw how Mingo was frowning, he went to gather water before meeting his friend face to face. As he got to the river, he saw Mingo's fish line tied to a tree and it looked like there was a catch. He lifted the fish out of the water and filled his canteen with fresh water.

Coffee and food before discussion.

But Mingo wasn't in a mood to wait.

"What took you so long yesterday? I had to hit Jemima twice, in order to protect Rebecca as much as possible. Twice, Daniel; I hit Jemima twice. She must be in so much pain today. How does she feel? What the devil took you so long?" His tone was not full of anger, as Daniel had expected. It was filled with worry, pain and regret.

"'Mima's fine; her face is bruised is all. She told me to tell you she's proud of you for doin' what you had to do."

"What about Rebecca, Daniel? She told you it didn't go as planned, did she not? It must have been the worst day of her life, Daniel, and you didn't arrive in time to stop me."

"Becky's fine too. She told me everything, and I'm fine with it. I trust you with the lives of everyone in my family. Becky sent you a message. I'll cook the fish and make coffee; you read the note she sent you."

Mingo took the piece of folded paper that Daniel handed him and walked away. He held it with trembling fingers and sat by the river, trying to collect a measure of calm that he didn't feel.

Slowly, he opened the fragile parchment; Rebecca had sealed it with a bit of her precious wax. Daniel probably hadn't read it. He wondered when she had found the time to write it. Still, she had written a letter for him. He badly wished to hear her voice; this letter might fill the void.

Mingo read slowly, taking in every single word, as if a judgment was passing over his head.

_Dear Mingo, _

_I'm fine. I'm sorry the stitches in my dress didn't hold as they should have. Thank you for looking only into my eyes as we shared this pain. You would have killed anyone who attacked me this way, and I know the pain it caused you. _

_Mingo, I trust you as I always have, with my life and my children's lives. _

_Your devoted friend, Rebecca. _

Mingo read his letter twice. Folded it close to his heart. He knew he had to give it back to Daniel, he couldn't take the risk that it would be found on him. But for now, he needed this small dose of comfort.

Mingo walked back toward Daniel, his heart still wrenched but with a little more peace.

Daniel leaned his tall frame against an oak tree. As he saw Mingo coming toward him, he extended his hand. Mingo's face wore a half-smile, and he handed Daniel the letter. Daniel tucked it into his bandoleer.

Just as Mingo turned toward the fire, and the cooking fish, the tall Kentuckian seized the Cherokee by the arm, slammed him harshly against the tree, and punched him hard in the face. He hit him once more for good measure.

Mingo simply allowed Daniel to pummel him, making no effort to defend himself or to fight back. He clearly felt he deserved any abuse Daniel thought necessary.

As the Cherokee sagged to his knees, Daniel raised his hands above his head, as if in surrender. "Your actin' was a little too good, Mingo. I plumb forgot it was all my own idea," he said, shocked at his own behavior.

Daniel sheepishly helped Mingo to his feet. His eye was swelling closed already, and blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"I'm so sorry I was late yesterday," Daniel added.

"I should have stopped you sooner. It's my fault it went as far as it did, not yours."

Mid-Day - June 18, 1777, the day after

Mingo and Daniel had eaten their fill. The raw emotions that raged in them both had been alleviated. Daniel had acted like a husband and father. He had looked at his daughter's face and the handprints so terribly plain on her cheeks. She had been hurt when Mingo slammed her into the table. Daniel remembered how she came out of the bedroom and fell into his arms, just as she had when she was little. She was in tears, shaking like a doe in fright.

She had been incredibly brave. Rebecca let her cry it all out in the bedroom. Jemima had been the first to realize the extra stitching in the dress hadn't held, when Mingo ripped it. The women should have asked Daniel to check their work – he would have known it wasn't strong enough against Mingo. They agreed that Jemima would be hit once, and get up only to put a shawl over Rebecca when Daniel arrived. But the dress ripped too much– so she did the only 'reasonable' thing, she attacked Mingo. It allowed Rebecca time to pull her dress up, and gave Mingo a chance to use his own body to hide Rebecca from view. Jemima kept her wits all through the ordeal.

Afterward, she was just a little girl in pain who needed her strong father to comfort and protect her. Daniel did what he had not done in years , he held her on his knees and slowly rocked her against his heart, soothing her lovingly.

The tears on Jemima's face brought Daniel to hit Mingo. And now, this done, they could face one another as they always did. Breaking bread together was reaffirming their faith, their friendship. Breaking bread would always be the way of the world to assuage pain and doubts.

They ate their fill in silence, contemplating their blessings. Mingo made sure he had ample shot and powder, that his whip was supple enough. Daniel teased Mingo about the bruise he would also sport, telling him that three of the most important people in his life would be sharing the same coloring for a few days. Mingo looked at him, shrugging his shoulders and frowning as he did whenever he thought Daniel's humor was in poor taste. But there was, nevertheless, the beginning of a twinkle in his eyes.

"Are you going to meet Rain Cloud as planned, Daniel?" asked Mingo as he readied his pack. Mingo would leave shortly, in order to be a few hours ahead on the trail. "And what about McTavish? Still meeting him in about a week by the Natashquan river?"

"Don't worry, Mingo; we'll track you just fine and we'll find a way to hook up before the worst happens. Make sure you keep your feathers out of the fire," Daniel smiled, but despite the lightness in his voice, their unspoken thoughts were foremost in their minds.

Daniel went south. Mingo rose and went north.

The game had begun yesterday , the dice had been rolled. It was just a matter of catching the right players and the proper cheater. Mingo was unaware of what lay ahead of him.


	9. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

June 24th, 1777 - 5 days later - Evening

Daniel and Rain Cloud buried the Wyandot warrior early in the morning. They found a message, etched deep into the dirt with a stick, indicating a meeting place near a river. They wondered why Mingo had killed this man, and they were looking forward to the meeting. It had been a hard five days. Rain Cloud was quieter than Mingo, if this was possible. Daniel had spent some time trapping with him and Mingo last winter. He had also met Rain Cloud's family at some of the gatherings he had attended in Chota. Mingo had brought Rain Cloud along during the peace negotiations but he was always silent, standing proudly by Mingo. What did matter to Daniel, in any case, was that Mingo trusted him with both the mission and all of their lives.

Mingo kept the pace quick and hard. He had no one to protect his back and probably wouldn't until the whole thing was over. Daniel and Rain Cloud were acting as his hunters, the charade had to be maintained at all cost.

Rain Cloud insisted on hunting for fresh meat. In one of the few conversations he had with Daniel, he had said "Mingo deserves fresh meat; we'll be happy with a fire and fresh meat." Daniel had repeatedly told Rain Cloud that he could speak his native language, but Rain Cloud only used broken English with him.

Daniel followed the trail that led to Mingo, and Rain Cloud had gone looking for game; they would meet by the river's edge.

Daniel arrived in time to see Mingo swimming in the river. He wasn't all that surprised; Mingo loved the feel of water. Daniel watched, and thought about joining him. He was incredibly dusty but decided the river would still be there in a few hours. He found Mingo's clothes on a dry piece of rock, all his adornments and weapons. Daniel lifted the whip in his hand, hefting it ,sizing it up. Mingo had taught him a little about handling it. Rain Cloud would arrive soon; he was as good a hunter as he was a tracker. So Daniel decided to amuse himself.

He cracked the whip loudly on the bark of a tree, breaking the silence of the forest. Mingo lifted his head from the water but saw no one around. A second crack was heard and Mingo rapidly swam toward the shore. As he climbed out, he saw his friend Daniel a few feet away and smiled. He shook the water off and got dressed quickly.

"Hello, Daniel! You are still misusing my whip. Do you not remember the lessons I gave you?" he asked smiling, glad to see a friendly face.

"I guess you ain't been a good teacher," Daniel retorted. "Water any good?

"The water is even better than fine, Daniel. I knew you would come and that I could use it. It has felt very good. Where is my friend, Rain Cloud How is Jemima? And Rebecca?" Mingo's voice had not been used for a while. All these questions came flowing out of him in a rush.

"Whoa there, Mingo. Rain Cloud will be here shortly. He wanted fresh meat tonight. Rebecca was looking better when I left, but Jemima was still sore. They're fine by now. We can't worry. Colonel Hartford is looking after them," Daniel hushed Mingo.

"Let's make a small fire where you can dry that hair of yours,"smiled Daniel, "Perhaps I can learn a few tricks with the whip?"

Rain Cloud arrived shortly after; the fire was burning bright and hot. He had shot a fowl and before getting down to cleaning and preparing it, he approached Mingo and clasped arms together in a warrior's greeting. The two Cherokees exchanged a few words of greeting in Cherokee. Daniel, who was witnessing their exchange, saw how glad they were to be in this together.

Mingo had tightly braided his dry hair. He had let Daniel practice some with his whip. As Rain Cloud got supper started, Mingo worked the fine threads of his whip. He was proud of his skills with the whip, and he maintained the weapon in fine working order.

Daniel had boiled some water for coffee. At last, Mingo would eat and relax this evening, confident that friends around him would protect his back.

"Tell us about the Wyandot we buried this morning, Mingo," Daniel said. Rain Cloud was curious too. Daniel, in deference to both Cherokees, spoke in their language. Perhaps Rain Cloud would believe that Daniel truly meant it when he had offered to speak Cherokee on the trail.

"Well, he attacked me; shot at me from behind. I got him first. I didn't want to leave his body like that; I sang his death song and used his weapons to honor him in death. I hoped the only one who could read English would be you. However, I was hoping someone else would find the warrior. I have offered prayers to the Great Spirit for his soul." Mingo was sad. It wasn't in him to leave even an enemy without the burial customs of his tribe. The few basic rites he managed to make were more for his own sake than for his assailant.

Daniel saw this mission would deplete much of Mingo's energy, playing a renegade, going against his own values. They had known the risks, the price to pay, but they understood and agreed with the conclusion.

"Have you made any contact?" inquired Daniel.

"Not yet, my friend, although I believe I was followed for a while by someone other than the two of you."

On that note, they decided to eat and enjoy a civil evening between friends; Rain Cloud, having at last accepted that Daniel truly meant his words, and began a tale as they ate together.

Morning came and with it a very rested Mingo. It had been his first good sleep in a week. Daniel had no news of McTavish, the young lieutenant with whom he would have a rendezvous two days hence. He had not seen any tracks of his, nor heard a peep from him either. The young lieutenant was either very good or had taken a different route.

As they separated, Mingo knew it might truly be the last time they would see one another. They all knew the direction Mingo was taking. Mingo was counting on both his friends to protect one another.

"I don't like the idea of you going into Canada, Daniel. If the British heard of your presence there, they would not hesitate to make you their prisoner and have your head as a trophy," commented Mingo; rightly so. He knew the British in Canada offered a large bounty for Daniel Boone.

"You be careful, Mingo and I will too. I'll be Jeremiah Fox from now on. You'll remember the name, right?" teased Daniel, as if his blood brother would forget. "We'll see each other in Quebec, if not before, if you need us."

The three men went their separate ways.


	10. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 

June 27th, 1777, 10 days after,

Rain Cloud and Daniel were still following and tracking, taking few breaks, walking endlessly. But it was time to replenish some of their supplies. They had been trekking for 16 days. There was no more coffee, no more jerky. Shot and powder were getting low. They were in Maryland, near the Pennsylvania border. They were following a road, and Daniel hoped to find a settlement or at least, some farmer in a log cabin along the way.

When they saw chimney smoke, they knew they were near something bigger than just one homestead.

They arrived at a trading post; there were three cabins nearby. Angry people were brandishing weapons at the sight of Rain Cloud.

"Now hold on there!" We need to buy supplies." volunteered Daniel right away, making sure to make no aggressive movement.

"We don't have supplies for the likes of you. Go on. We don't need your business," answered the pudgier of the men. He was not armed, but obviously two of the men by his side were working either with him or for him. "We don't need your kind around."

Daniel recognized the signs; Indians were not welcomed around here. He thought he knew why.

"Listen, this Injun is no trouble. We are on our way to Philadelphia and we need supplies; as soon as we get them, we'll leave. A simple transaction, an hour's rest at the most," Daniel didn't demand or insist, he pleaded.

Daniel knew a man as tall as he was could appear threatening; he knew how to downplay himself when he had to.

"We need the supplies -- foodstuffs mostly. Some powder. Then we'll be on our way. You won't see us again," Daniel repeated.

While two armed men remained outside with Rain Cloud, Daniel went inside with the pudgy man. He managed to get enough supplies to last them another week, perhaps more if they were careful, at a price that wasn't too outrageous. More importantly, he got news.

It seemed an Indian, a tall one with blue trousers, had attacked the Johnson's homestead. That Indian had killed three chickens, stolen honey, coffee and more foodstuffs; and hit young Jamie Johnson on the head with a tomahawk. Jamie's sister Annie had seen him as she came back from the river with her clean laundry. She had been scared and had hidden away, until the Indian left. Annie and Jamie were left on their own since their father had gone trapping south. They were twins, strong and determined, only 14 but able to take care of the farming needs of their homestead. What this Indian had stolen from them, they needed badly.

Daniel paid for his supplies and did exactly what he had promised he would do - he left the area quickly.

As Daniel and Rain Cloud headed toward the Natasquan River, they realized they were being followed. They hadn't let it disturb them, acting as if hunting Mingo was their only reason for travel. Now it was time to find out exactly who was following, if it was McTavish as planned or some foes who might need to be taken care of.

After leaving the trading post, they walked north for about an hour, then veered toward the river. Rain Cloud circled back; Daniel busied himself making camp and waiting.

Rain Cloud came back to camp, took out his knife, and began carving. Daniel understood the message. He got up, as if to get more water. A slight hand movement, and Rain Cloud was on his feet. Daniel went right, Rain CLoud went left. The two white men who were resting near the river were surrounded.

"Hi there, been travelin' long ?" asked Daniel.

"Mr. Boone!"

"My name is Jeremiah Fox, Lieutenant," commanded Daniel.

"Mr. Fox," answered the lieutenant politely, " This is," he hesitated, "my friend, Willie Ferguson."

"Well, Thomas, mighty glad to see you again. Willie, I'm glad to make your acquaintance." Daniel offered the younger man his right hand. " Now you know why we are on this trail, I reckon?"

"Yes, sir," Willie said obediently.

"Jeremiah will do, gentlemen."

"Yes, Jeremiah," agreed Thomas McTavish, with a smile.

July 1st, 1777 - 14 days later - Morning

Mingo tended to avoid all roads leading to white men's villages or settlements. But he also needed to maintain the 'reputation' of being a marauder. He had to preserve powder; he could not set snares as he was always on the move. His provisions were getting low, walking endless miles, day after day. He did not wish for Daniel to "pull his feathers out of the fire," as he often teased him. Not unless their mission was concluded.

He had no more coffee. He didn't understand why he couldn't just live off water, like his Cherokee brothers. He needed coffee daily. He had no more salt to cure anything he might shoot. Fresh meat, a few vegetables to boil, would keep him going for a few more days.

Mingo knew he would have to raid another farm. Sighing, Mingo felt awful. He disliked raiding as much as he did, knowing his actions taught white settlers to fear Indians.

Daniel, Rain Cloud and Thomas were sleeping. Willie was standing guard. After meeting as planned, they had gone north, toward the Hudson River.

They had a strict schedule. Supplies waited for them at preplanned trading posts or deserted cabins, once even in a cave. A canoe and more supplies awaited them once they reached the Hudson.

Since battles were still waging between British forces and the Continental Army around Lake Champlain, travel in that area would be difficult and dangerous. With a bounty on Daniel's head, it was unlikely that "Jeremiah Fox" could go unnoticed. Many British officers knew Daniel Boone, and might be posted anywhere in Quebec.

Daniel had accepted this risk, just as Mingo had agreed to pose as a marauder and raider.


	11. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

July 3, 1777 – 16 days after

Mingo was eating the goat he had stolen and slaughtered the evening before. The homestead he raided was a poor one, with a few chickens for eggs, and the goats. He ate guiltily; he knew his actions would cause the settlers to hate Indians even more, and hoped that someone was keeping a tally of everything he had stolen and everyone he had harmed.

He had been as quiet as usual, but the young son of the homestead had surprised him, and he had had no choice but to strike the boy. The homestead was a poor one, with nothing to spare; it grieved him to steal what little they had, but Mingo knew he had no choice if he hoped to be accepted into the band of renegades.

While Mingo sat near his small, smokeless fire, he thought of Daniel. With summer in full swing, Daniel had left his own farming behind. He hoped Daniel's neighbors would tend to the Boone fields as they could. As time flew, Mingo was becoming more worried for Rebecca and the children. The harvest would need gathering, hay needed cutting. Winter would be harsh and Daniel was needed at home. The winter's trapping would provide cash money for the following year.

As Mingo finished eating his hasty meal, he worried also about Bright Rainbow and her daughters. He knew his uncle, Menewa, would make sure that Rain Cloud's family would be looked after. He cooked enough meat to last a few days and buried the rest of the carcass. He shook his head, regretting the waste, and the necessity for it.

He had stolen a stock of powder and shot two days before. He broke into a cabin where an old woman was cooking stew. He had asked no questions, fearing her family's return, but quickly discovered where the powder and shot were kept. He left the crying woman shaken but unharmed. He wished he could have reassured and calmed her, but knew he had probably increased her fear of 'savages'.

Mingo could not sleep at night. Though he knew Daniel and Rain Cloud were on their way to Canada, he worried for their safety and felt remorse for the families he had stolen from.

The prickling feeling on the back of his neck convinced him that someone was following; someone trying not to be seen.

Mingo wondered if his followers would ever make contact.

He slept fitfully. He was not surprised to hear rustling branches and sudden noise in the forest. If these were Indians, they were making no effort to hide. He rose up, drawing his knife in his left hand, and readying himself to make a quick grab for his rifle.

"Don't move!" a Shawnee voice boomed in the dark.

Three men stepped out of the underbrush and sat around the Cherokee, who was now fully awake,

"What do you want with me?" Mingo demanded angrily.

"You are a Cherokee dog," said, one of them, "We don't need a Cherokee dog with us."

"Remember what I said, Wild River. It's my decision, not yours," barked the Shawnee.

"Get up and follow us or die, Cherokee," It was more of an order than an invitation.

Mingo, at last, would join them. Or so he hoped.

Gathering his pack and weapons, he scuffed some of the fire's ashes into the ground. Daniel could pick it up -- if he was still on Mingo's trail and not on his way north.

Mingo sighed and quietly followed the three Shawnee renegades.

July 4 1777 – 17 days after

The renegades had a fair sized camp. There were three large lean-tos for sleeping and a larger one that was used for supplies, mostly stolen. Three women tended the fire and the smell from the kettle was rich and appetizing.

Four young children played with sticks.

Mingo felt deep sorrow for these children and doubts for their future. If their parents were killed, these children would lose their heritage. And yet, if they were adopted into other tribes or raised by whites, their ways would be lost anyway. They would be rejected by their new tribe or feared by white men.

As Mingo followed the man who had brought him here, a short-haired man, dressed in a mixture of Shawnee warrior and white man's clothing, came forward.

"Cherokee, you've caused havoc wherever you went. Why? We know the Cherokee are beneath us. You speak peace with the Long Knives, you fear them and refuse to fight them. So why are you alone in the woods and stealing from them?" The way the others deferred to him made it clear this man was the leader

"I have white blood in my veins. The Cherokee have always shunned me, and treated me as less than a man. I have had enough of their laughter and cowardice. It was time for me to leave them and their ways behind. They lose more of their land every year because they will not fight the whites. The whites treat me as an Indian. There is no place for me, so I prefer my freedom".

Mingo told the story in part. He wasn't going to hide his name, and with it, the reality that he was half-white, had befriended white men. It would have required a lot longer preparation for their mission. Telling as much as possible of the truth was easier.

"My name is Mingo, I lived near Boonesborough. Daniel Boone was my friend. I believe he's hunting me now," Mingo finished.

"I'm Eagle Heart, leader of this tribe. We also like our freedom and our forefathers' ways. We hunt. We fight. We take back what is ours." said the leader. "I also have white blood and I too was shunned by my tribe. Perhaps you would like to join us."

Mingo detected sarcasm. They would test him. And it would not be an easy test. He felt a chill to the core of his heart and asked the Creator to help him. Mingo realized what he would need to do to be allowed to join this group would challenge all his beliefs.

"I have enjoyed my freedom so far. What would I gain in joining you?" asked Mingo. He hoped that the more self-reliant he appeared to be, the less dangerous the test might be.

"Protection, We will kill anyone hunting you. And you will protect us. We hunt and trap. We cherish our families, and have them live as Indians live. We frighten the white men, kill them, and steal back what they have stolen from us. We can do this together. Alone, you will be hunted, taken and hanged. You know this, Mingo of the Cherokee," explained Eagle Heart.

Another man came to join them. "Your wife says to come and eat. And she'll feed the Cherokee as well." spat this man. He was Wyandot, taller than Mingo, older, with an old long scar on his left cheek.

"White Beaver, this is Mingo. White Beaver is in charge of our supplies. He decides when to move camp and he is in charge when I am away," said Eagle Heart. "Come and have bread at Little Doe's fire."

Mingo ate with Eagle Heart's family; three of the children were his. None were older than 8. As he sat with them, Mingo hoped that between Daniel and Colonel Hartford, they would be able to rescue them and give them a chance for a decent future. He ate in silence, conversation was not expected.

He could only wait to see what they had in store for him.


	12. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

July 16th, 29 days later

Mingo went along. He had no choice. Heading for Canada, toward a British garrison, was starting to worry him. He kept his tension well hidden from the Indians around him. He raided along with them, more worried this time about truly hurting people. In the last raid, they had burned a cabin to the ground, housing a family of seven.

Mingo shot the first flaming arrow into the cabin. He heard screaming from the house, as he shot the second arrow. He prayed to both his Creator and his father's God that no one was hurt.

They kept going north, raiding as they went. Mingo managed to shoot, run, scream and hunt beasts as well as humans. During his years of friendship with Daniel, he had improved his shooting skills; amongst the raiders, no one noticed how often he missed his target. He provided plenty of game, he stole as well, but he never harmed anyone. No one questioned or challenged him. The week before, Eagle Heart sent White Beaver on a raiding expedition west with the main group. The children, women and two older men stayed behind in a new quickly raised camp.

Eagle Heart picked Mingo, along with 7 others and told them they were going into Canada, to trade some stolen furs and find a market for other stolen goods. Mingo wondered why he had been picked, but he nodded with pleasure at the 'honor' of the choice.

They had gone from the Hudson, to Lake Champlain, to the Richelieu and now, with the rapids coming up, the three canoes and nine Indians, were getting ready for portage. They would reach Fort Chambly within the hour. There was a settlement there, mostly all Canadian farmers; simple people used to dealing with harsh winters, bad crops and year after year of hardship. Under French King Louis, or under English King George III, did not matter; the only difference was the missing loved ones, buried in mass graves on battlefields of decades past. They knew Indians and how to deal with them. They knew the British and simply lived beside them.

Mingo knew what those other Indians knew. The British might not welcome the newest marauder. There was no other way for him but to hope for the best, while preparing for the worst.

The Americans had tried to seize Quebec City in 1776; they had control of Fort Chambly for nearly 2 years during that campaign. It was another reason the French-Canadian settlers stayed as far away from the Fort as possible. Which would have control next? Who would come to their defense?

When Mingo and his companions reached the fort at last, they saw the damage from the siege had not been completely fixed. Dragoons bearing rifles patrolled the river's edge in groups of six. They pointed their rifles at Mingo and the rest of the Indians.

Eagle Heart walked up to the British military leader and saluted briskly, as if he were army himself. He introduced himself and asked that their group be shown to General Brimley as soon as possible; they were bringing news of White Beaver's latest raid.

General Brimley was not available; his aide-de-camp, Captain George Clarkson was, however. He welcomed them into the fort, offering them food and drink in one of the largest rooms.

Eagle Heart and Captain Clarkson quickly left the group, and went toward another part of the fort. Mingo watched them go, noticing the subtle placement of extra guards near their door. He ate slowly; surreptitiously checking their surroundings. He had never been here before but he recognized French architecture when he saw it. This fort was not made to resist cannons; the rapids around Chambly had probably convinced the French who built it, that this fort was accessible only by water. Anyone inside the fort under guard could not escape easily.

When Clarkson and Eagle Heart came back, nearly half of the Indians had dozed off here and there. Mingo himself had slid to the floor resting his body as well, while remaining alert. He couldn't remember seeing so many redcoats together since he left England in 1764.

He should not have been surprised; but perhaps he was, a little. As more time passed, Mingo had begun to suspect that something was very wrong behind his presence in Quebec.

Clarkson, Eagle Heart weren't alone when they entered the large room.

Henry Hartford was with them, and he was wearing a British major's uniform.

July 17, 1777, evening.

His cell was small, dark and foul-smelling. Mingo felt ill soon after being confined. A guard brought him water more suitable for scrubbing than drinking, but he drank the foul water anyway. No food was offered. The only light came from a small window high in the wall where the moon could be seen. He had no visitors.

Henry had approached him sneering the day before "You know that you are a traitor to the crown, Mingo. It is my duty to bring traitors to trial."

"A pleasure for you, I am sure, Henry. Does your father know about this … choice of clothing on your part?" Mingo waved at Henry's uniform.

"Dear Father has no clue. He sent me to England to live with my maternal grandfather, to receive the best schooling and to learn of my true heritage. Unlike you, I didn't turn my back on it. I am a loyal British citizen. You are nothing but a filthy half-breed traitor. You could have had title and land. You chose to betray all that Lord Dunsmore did for you when he openly acknowledged you, not just as his son, but as his heir."

Mingo waited silently. He would not be baited. He wanted to know how much deception Henry's father had suffered. How safe would Daniel be in Quebec City? He had seen Henry Hartford's kind many times in his life. Henry would give himself away at some point.

What Mingo had refused to consider was the pain inside, the pain that was infusing slowly.

He would deal with the pain of betrayal, accept it and move on. No, what gnawed at him was the despicable pain of total and utter rejection.

Henry Hartford, old friend, had simply rejected Mingo.

And this was worse than imprisonment and fear of death.

July 18, 1777, midday.

Jean-Marie Gagnon came into the fort to trade; he had plenty of furs from last winter's traps. He was known in the area as the man who came and went. It was said he had a family near Montreal, a wife and children; no one knew for sure. He was a loner, showing up unexpectedly now and then.

He was not happy with all the Redcoats around, and he made his feelings known. As if anyone who knew Jean-Marie Gagnon didn't know this already.

He moored his canoe a few miles up north; the rapids were impossible to canoe. He carried all his furs on his back.

He had sworn the King's oath, as had most Canadians, but he made no effort to learn the redcoats' language beyond what he needed to trade. However, he spoke many Indian tongues and was always welcomed by the Hurons and the Montagnais, with whom he had a long friendship.

Jean-Marie Gagnon entered the trading post, opposite the fort. This was a Canadian stronghold, made up of Canadian militia and French forces. He knew the layout very well, he had been militia himself. Some said he had fought on the Plains of Abraham, but none knew for sure. Jean-Marie was the stock of legend.

The sergeant on guard was not as welcoming as the Indians and Canadians settlers of the Chambly settlements, but he let him through. Orders had come from higher up to avoid trouble with those Canadians.

As he entered the trading post, Jean-Marie was greeted by old acquaintances and laughter. Apple cider was placed in front on him as soon as he dumped his furs on the bench. The storekeeper's assistant started to go through them counting; all were good, none were refused.

Once the bargain was made, he ordered a second cup of cider and a bowl of hot soup, and sat down with another man.

Mathurin Bélanger had settled in Carignan, before the Conquest. He had also sworn allegiance to the British king in exchange for his land's title. In their youth, the two men had gone trapping many times in the Pointe-Aux-Lacs area. Mathurin found he enjoyed farming, while Jean-Marie kept on trapping.

During the course of quiet conversation, for Canadians knew better than to trust the English conquerors, that Jean-Marie heard the latest news.

There was an Indian prisoner in the garrison cell, and it was said he was a British traitor.

When the French built the fort, they placed an oubliette under one of the supply cellars. The British, however, preferred to put their prisoners in regular cells, so they picked a room they felt could be easily converted; it had a small window, large enough for a man to go through but very high and facing the Richelieu river. Mingo was tall, but not quite that tall. He could not reach the window, he wasn't even sure he could pass through it. He hated confinement; it had very likely started on his passage to England, on the ship that took him away from his native land. It was the first time in his life he hadn't had freedom to come and go, the first time he learned what it meant to live in the white man's universe, with their rules. His father made it a priority that his son would not only catch up with boys his age, but would excel in all subjects. Mingo had often been confined in rooms, studying alone, despite the lack of fresh air. Reading had become a solace of sorts, but he still loathed being confined.

He would find a way out. He had to.

When the door opened, Mingo was ready. So were they. Two young soldiers came in first, holding their rifles ready and primed, a third followed quickly. Mingo could do nothing to prevent their entry, or to divert them.

Henry followed the soldiers. With him, there was a stocky man in his mid-thirties wearing dirty buckskins. There was something disturbing about the fifth man.

"Mingo, why don't you go into the corner?" said Henry, pointing toward the wall opposite the window. "You wouldn't want one of these soldiers to accidentally shoot you, old chap?"

Mingo obeyed quickly and silently, while remaining vigilant.

A sixth man came in, carrying a table and a stool. He came back shortly with quills, ink and a basket of bread, fruit and cheese. A young woman followed him with a pitcher and a pewter cup. She left too.

The three soldiers remained at attention, their rifles pointing straight at Mingo's heart. He stood tall, awaiting Henry's next words. Mingo's attention was not on Henry; he kept his eyes on the dirty buckskinned man.

Henry sat on the stool and extended a hand toward the filthy man. "Your knife, Pierre, s'il vous plait." Pierre handed him his knife, after wiping it on his trousers. Henry shook in head in dismay and used his own breeches to wipe the dirty knife. "Hungry, Mingo?" he taunted, as he sliced a piece of cheese, which he slapped on some bread. "My men told me you refused the meal they offered."

Mingo smiled, "Meal, Henry? Pigs wouldn't have eaten it."

"I thought you thrived on primitive fare, old chap; perhaps I was wrong," Henry mocked.

Mingo remained silent.

Henry took an apple from the basket and threw it toward Mingo. The Cherokee caught it easily, but made no move to eat it. He was still studying Pierre.

He was not surprised when Pierre grabbed the apple away from him by twisting his elbow viciously in the wrong direction. Before Pierre could break his arm, Mingo punched him. One of the soldiers hit Mingo squarely on the head with his rifle butt.

Pierre smiled.

Mingo fell down.

Pierre began to kick and punch him. Not a word was exchanged.

When Henry rose from his stool, he had written a long letter. He paid no attention to Mingo's beating. The couple came back to gather everything out of the cell; everything but the ink, the quill and the stool.

Mingo was left unconscious in the corner of his cell, oblivious to everything.

The cell was dark when Mingo regained consciousness. The moon was high and there was some light. He stood slowly, taking stock of his injuries. His head throbbed, his hair was thick with blood from the cut on his forehead and his ribs felt sore. He would be bruised in the morning. He was thirsty, and hungry.

Curious about the letter, he lifted the piece of paper to the moonlight.

The letter Henry had written was an admission of treason, using Mingo's English name. It was a confession of treason to the Crown, awaiting his signature.

Mingo guessed that Henry would withhold food and water and have him beaten as often as required, until he signed the letter or died. Either way, it was his death sentence. He knew then that Henry had something which he could and would use against Lord Dunsmore. Mingo and his father didn't see eye to eye, but they were bound by a code of honor that both respected. Mingo also believed that his father had agreed at last to let his son be what and who he was and wanted to be. Mingo wondered what kind of bargaining power Henry thought he had. For the moment, Mingo had to forego finding out more. Henry had just made a huge mistake.

With the stool, Mingo could reach the window.

He moved the stool, and testing its strength against his weight, stood on it. Yes, he could crawl through the window. The water was heavy, the current strong. Mingo wondered if he should go before someone realized the stool was still in the room. How could he swim the current in the condition he was in? Where would he go? North toward Daniel, who didn't know Henry was manipulating them, or south toward the Continental Army? Warning Colonel Hartford was as important as warning Daniel.

But first, escape.

Mingo stretched, making sure he could climb, jump and swim the current.

Then, his mind made up, he took the piece of paper, turned it over and wrote a message for Henry on it.

Taking a deep, long breath, he went back to the stool, pulled himself up to the window, and jumped.

Mathurin and Jean-Marie were sitting by the river's edge, eating by their fire.

"_Vraiment? André et sa femme ont vraiment laissé le banc dans sa cellule_ .» Mathurin asked Jean-Marie for the second time.

« Yes, they did. It's up to him now to jump or not. And if he does, we'll find out why the British wanted him and if he needs our help. You know what I think of Redcoats making prisoners!" murmured Jean-Marie. Their fire was very small, barely visible and without smoke, and their voices kept low. They were trying to avoid attention while standing guard by the swift current of the Richelieu.

"How long do we wait?" wondered Mathurin, although he knew the answer. If the Indian prisoner didn't escape during the night, it would be too late for him after that.

Jean-Marie had asked André's wife to leave something inside the cell for the Indian prisoner to use to reach the window. It was a risk for the Canadian couple who worked in the British fort kitchen, but one that might be overlooked in the search that would follow. And André owed his life to Jean-Marie a few times over. A bullet meant for André had been wasted on the Plains of Abraham when Jean-Marie had thrown himself on top of his compatriot.

So Mathurin and Jean-Marie waited silently by the north edge of the fort, where the currents were heavier still, with a canoe and some provisions.

It was Mathurin who heard it first, a hard splash. They got up and walked to the edge of the river. An Indian was trying desperately to stay afloat in the fast flowing river.

Jean-Marie made a quick decision. He tied a rope around his waist, threw the other end of it to Mathurin, and dove after the Indian.

Mingo sat propped against a maple tree. He was still shivering. His clothes were spread on rocks near the fire to dry and he was covered in a thick woolen blanket.

When Jean-Marie jumped into the Richelieu to reach him, Mingo was starting to go under. He swam strongly at first, keeping his head above the water. Mingo had always been a strong swimmer, but he was hurt, the current was very swift, the water very cold. He hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. He tried to reach the river's edge, but there was an eddy that kept pushing him deeper, and he fought against its pull. He tried to avoid being battered on the rocks spread throughout the rapids.

Mingo was unaware of the two Canadians nearby. He was going under for the last time, when a strong arm grabbed him by the hair. He felt no pain; just glad of the feel of air reaching his nearly empty lungs. Coughing and waterlogged, he was no help at all. He was held more tightly by the shoulders, and suddenly found himself in shallow water. The man who held him let him go, clearly exhausted himself and other arms reached for him.

He was barely aware of his surroundings. He had no recollection of being undressed. He continued to shiver.

"Ne touche pas à ta blessure, l'Indien ; je vais te faire un bandage, he heard one of the men say.

He had spoken French once, back in England, but he was still disoriented. "Parlez-vous Anglais, monsieur?" he asked hopefully. "Thank you for saving me from drowning."

"No, but I speak a few Indian languages. I understand you, l'Indien," answered the man, handing him a cup.

Mingo eagerly took the cup. To his pleasure, it was hot coffee. He took a small sip. His throat hurt; the hot beverage made the pain worse, but he was very thirsty.

"Pourquoi m'avez-vous aidé? Mon nom est Mingo. » asked Mingo, remembering a little French, asking why he had been helped.

"Jean-Marie Gagnon, à ton service Mingo. Et avec moi, Mathurin Bélanger, mon vieux compagnon et nous n'aimons pas les anglais. Et aider leurs prisonniers à s'enfuir nous fait plaisir." Jean-Marie said as he offered him a piece of meat

July 19, 1777, Evening.

Jean-Marie cleaned and bandaged Mingo's forehead, covering his wound with a bandana. He bound Mingo's ribs to make him more comfortable. As Mingo grew warmer, hunger and thirst satisfied, he dozed a little.

Mingo awoke when the sun started to shine brightly in the sky. The Canadians were still at his side, though the fire had gone out. Mingo felt better, though bruised and sore.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Mingo said. "May I repeat my thanks for saving me from drowning?"

Mathurin handed him a cup of cool, fresh water and shrugged away the gratitude.

Jean-Marie said, "You talk mighty funny for an Indian. I remember the regiment commandant I served under in Montreal spoke just like you. Why does an Indian sound like an English officer?"

Mingo struggled with Jean-Marie's words; he spoke quickly and the accent was unfamiliar. Mingo said, "I was educated in England, and learned French in school." He didn't add that a few of his father's acquaintances were nobles from the Court of King Louis.

"It seems like an extraordinary coincidence that you happened to be nearby when I was drowning. Was I simply lucky?" Mingo commented as he was putting his dry clothes on. He braided his hair as well as he could.

Although Mingo's nearly flawless French surprised both men, they understood his question and laughed heartily. Mingo wondered why.

"No coincidence, l'Indien. How did you manage to climb out that window?" asked Jean-Marie, still laughing.

Mingo didn't say a word, as he looked at them. It dawned on him. The stool had been left behind deliberately, and they had something to do with it.

"The couple left the stool behind in my cell. Did you arrange it?" asked Mingo.

"Bright Indian, I see. I have many friends among the Hurons; they are also very bright." Mathurin laughed. "Mingo, Jean-Marie did."

"Why help me? You don't even know me." Mingo was very curious; grateful but wary. Was this part of Henry's devious plot?

"You were a prisoner. That's why. I don't like the British putting people in jail. Don't you know anything about them? About us? Where are you from, Mingo? A Canadian would understand why we would free a British prisoner!" Now Jean-Marie wondered who this Indian really was. Perhaps he was part of a plot to catch those who fought back against the Redcoats.

Mingo was quiet, thinking. It was up to him to answer first, if he wanted to know more. He told Mathurin and Jean-Marie all about the 'mission' he was on with his friends, Daniel Boone and Rain Cloud, where they came from, what they hoped to achieve, how they had been betrayed and where Mingo stood at this point.

"Is Daniel Boone your friend? The Redcoats have a huge bounty on him. Some Canadians would sell their souls for this money. Your tormentor was Pierre Bissonet; he would hunt your friend and skin him alive for half the bounty on his head. Your life is in danger too. You should head back toward the American Colonies. If you take my canoe, we'll guide you south and put you in the river." Jean-Marie said matter-of-factly.

"I think I would rather head toward Quebec to warn my friends, and help them if I can," countered Mingo.

"Help them fight off a British plot? Sounds like fun, if you ask me."

It was decided. They would portage for four miles, and if the river's edge was safe, they would canoe toward the Sorels Island first. If not, they would walk to Montreal along trails Mathurin and Jean-Marie knew.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translation

"_Vraiment? André et sa femme ont vraiment laissé le banc dans sa cellule_ .» Mathurin asked Jean-Marie for the second time. _"Really?Andre and his wife have left a stool in his cell"_

"Ne touche pas à ta blessure, l'Indien ; je vais te faire un bandage, _Don__'__t touch your wound, Indian _he heard one of the men say.

"Jean-Marie Gagnon, à ton service Mingo. Et avec moi, Mathurin Bélanger, mon vieux compagnon et nous n'aimons pas les anglais. Et aider leurs prisonniers à s'enfuir nous fait plaisir." Jean-Marie said as he offered him a piece of meat_. Jean-Marie Gagnon, at your service Mingo. And with me, Mathurin Belanger, my old companion. We don__'__t like the English and helping out their prisoners to escape makes us quite happy_


	13. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

July 20th, 1777, Quebec city, 31 days later.

Daniel, Rain Cloud and Thomas McTavish arrived in Quebec on a warm summer day. Willie had stayed in Trois-Rivières where he would meet with Canadians who sympathized with the American cause.

Daniel didn't know where Mingo was. They had seen his moccasin tracks once mixed with other tracks, near a raided settlement. Though the hints he left behind were scarce and well hidden, they knew he had made contact with the renegades. They lost him completely as they went toward the Hudson. It was necessary to avoid Philadelphia at all costs. It looked as if the marauders might have gone toward Liberty City or perhaps that all these hints were meant to fool the Colonial Army. They reached Lake Champlain, avoiding militia and military, after a hard three days canoeing and living off dry supplies.

They still had to go north. This was the second part of the mission: finding out what the British were planning..

Rain Cloud wanted to follow Mingo's trail. They were both worried, and Daniel had almost agreed to let him go.

There were a hospital and school under the supervision of the Grey Nuns order near the St-Charles River; it accepted Indians as lodgers. They went there as soon as they arrived in the French city.

July 20th, 1777, Quebec City, 31 days later

They canoed from the Hudson, to Lake Champlain, to the Richelieu River. They made portage when the rapids came up, staying as far away from Fort-Chambly and its British regiment as possible. They walked away from the river then, following a fairly wide trail. They avoided all the British by remaining on this trail. It led them into the Kanewaga village after a two days trek. The Huron were friendly, old allies of the French and therefore still bitter enemies of the British. Thomas and Willie conversed freely with the proud Indians. They had been welcomed with hot, fresh food. More supplies were waiting for them within the Huron camp. The Continental Army had friends everywhere, it seemed.

They canoed and portaged the St-Lawrence River all the way to Quebec City. It was a hard task. Daniel couldn't help but wonder how it would be in the winter he had heard of, in this land.

The nuns were welcoming but overbearing as well. Some of the settler's children and many more Indian children attended their daily classes. The idea that Rain Cloud was not a good Christian Indian and didn't know his letters challenged them. They fretted over him constantly.

These nuns would prove to be quite an experience in the life of the Americans.

July 22, 1777, afternoon.

Rain Cloud knew enough French that he could translate for Jeremiah, and act as his manservant. While Cherokee didn't often venture that far north, Quebec City wasn't fazed with a member of a Southern tribe. Since the end of the Seven Years War, the city was alive with the voices of its inhabitants, mostly Canadians, who had sworn oaths to the British in exchange for the right to remain on their home soil. There were fur traders, voyagers, coureurs des bois, children, Indians and French-Canadians, attending schools run by Grey Order nuns, wives taking care of daily chores, fishermen, blacksmiths, officers and their men wearing red coats. A city of almost 40,000 inhabitants, scarred from many wars, alive with people, it had colors and flavors. Daniel suspected that Rain Cloud felt as Mingo usually did about cities - too big, too dirty. Daniel's thoughts were of Mingo. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he safely away from the British? How would they contact one another? How would they remove him from the clutches of the renegades?

There was nothing he could do, Daniel decided, shrugging. He would have to trust Mingo to do what he had to do. And so Daniel moved forward in order to fulfill his own mission.


	14. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

July 23. 1777, morning

Jean-Marie, Mathurin and Mingo hid their canoe near the Richelieu Islet facing Deschambault's setttlement and trading post. They swam back to shore. They left most of their clothes and all their packs and supplies on the north shore, in a bush, by the trail known as Le Chemin du Roy. The St-Lawrence River water was cold, even on a warm summer day and the swim long. The current was heavy; it was an area where travelers would portage. But they wanted to avoid leaving any visible trail behind them. Mingo knew that Jean-Marie and Mathurin were as capable as any of traveling unseen.

They had traveled a little over four days. Mathurin and Jean-Marie had pulled quite a stunt helping Mingo escape, unscathed, from the British cell in Chambly. Mathurin had agreed to go north with Jean-Marie. A slightly disheveled Indian accompanied them. It had not been hard to convince Mingo to trade his Cherokee clothing for Jean-Marie's extra buckskins; he had even cut a few inches of hair and tied it as the white men did. Jean-Marie had begun to address him as Nicholas, as good a French name as any to discourage suspicion.

Henry Hartford had teased him mercilessly in jail, had taunted him, had even said Mingo's father was aware of his son's imprisonment and was relieved by it. Somehow Mingo doubted his father would rejoice in his death as a traitor. Mingo believed that his father respected his son's choices in life - even if it was to fight the British and side with the Colonials. It was more than the teasing that gnawed at Mingo at night; he worried for Daniel and Rain Cloud. Knowing Daniel and he had been played for fools by Henry Hartford, in a game pitting Colonials against British troops, troubled him all the more.

Jean-Marie and Mathurin spoke hardly any English; Mingo's French was too perfect, as different from French-Canadian French as his English was from that spoken by Americans. They found they could all speak Iroquois rather well and were often found exchanging tall tales of fighting Indians, English or each other at night in the language of the Iroquois nation.

Jean-Marie swore they could have reached the St. Charles River the following afternoon, if they had continued canoeing. It would take three days walking Le Chemin du Roy. Mingo knew Daniel was wily; the fact he spoke no French did not bother his companions. They were used to seeing American fur traders in Quebec City.

July 25, 1777, morning.

Mingo went for a quick swim as soon as he woke. They were near in a village called "Les Écureuils"; Les Écureuils _(The Squirrels) _was a prosperous village, with stone houses, its own church, a general store and absolutely no British. They made good speed on Le Chemin du Roy, a highway between Montreal and Quebec City. They should reach Neuville before mid-day, according to Jean-Marie and they could be in Quebec City tonight if they continued walking.

When he got back to the camp they had made just a few yards away from the village, food was waiting for him. Mingo was still pleased by the quick friendship given him by the two men. They had no reason to help him; they kept telling him anything to upset the British applecart was a good enough reason.

The St-Lawrence was very cold. He was glad for the warmth of the fire and when Mathurin handed him a hot cup of coffee, he gratefully accepted it as he dressed himself Jean-Marie's buckskins. Yesterday Mingo had insisted they use French as their main language of communication; he was trying hard to grasp their idioms and ways. He had no wish to remain silent when they reached Quebec City.

So they spoke of trapping, trading, and explained to him why portage was so popular and the most common means of exploring. The St-Lawrence had many rapids and a swift current that made canoeing between Montreal and Quebec near impossible; that was the main reason the French Governor had the Chemin du Roy built. Portage meant carrying the canoes on land, following the river's path, when canoeing proved impossible.

Every settlement Mingo had seen so far had a Catholic Church and religious orders were found near every Indian village as well. Catholic Jesuits had made it their duty to save the souls of North American heathens.

They shared a hearty meal of fish; there were plenty of fish in the St-Lawrence after all, easier to catch than setting snares daily. Sharing laughter and tall tales, they hefted their packs and started to walk toward Quebec City.


	15. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

July 26, 1777 

Mathurin, Jean-Marie and Mingo arrived at dusk in Sillery, just a few hours from Quebec City. They chose to spend the night in a small cavern by the fall. Morning would come soon enough to walk into the city.

Mingo practiced his French with his companions, but he would never pass for Canadian. It was decided that Mingo would simply be a metis. He was after all un sang-mêlé; he would claim to be of French descent rather than British.

Mingo, the French-speaking métis, would go to Québec city with two of his Canadian trapper friends; they needed work during the summer season. Their cover story would allow them to walk inside the walled city and to look for jobs.

Mathurin had told him a lot about the French-speaking Capitol. The British were present as lawkeepers; their regiments lived at the Citadel, and those who had wives and children had them living in the higher city. The Canadians were mostly farmers spread north of the higher city. The port was busy all summer , there were numerous taverns, pubs and places of ill-repute in the lower city by the St-Lawrence. It was a busy city.

"Will I pass as one of those métis? I speak a little Wyandot. Will it be enough to pass for half-Huron?" Mingo wondered for the third time.

And for the third time, Jean-Marie told him, "You will pass without question for Métis, what you have to remember is that you're now Catholic and the half-breed son of a young seigneur. The Jesuits' tutoring and your father will explain your fancy French. And what must you remember about being Catholic?"

"Are all Métis Catholics then?"

"Of course not! But how else to explain the way you speak? Either you're deaf and dumb, or you're a scholar from the Jesuit school. Pick your choice, l'Indien." Jean-Marie kept addressing Mingo as "the Indian", in a friendly banter. Mingo felt comfortable with the Canadian trapper; there was honesty about Jean-Marie.

"And what do I need to know about this Catholic métis that I am?" Mingo wondered aloud.

"Not a whole lot, just make sure to bow your head, and make the sign of the cross when you pass a church. And there are many churches in Quebec City!" Mathurin teased Mingo, laughing good-naturedly.

They spread their blankets on the ground. It had been a warm day, and the night was bright with stars and a fair-sized moon. Crickets were in full song and they soon were asleep, lulled by the safety of the forests and the waterfall nearby.

As morning came, Mingo got up first. He dove into the St-Lawrence for a quick swim; the seaway was quite invigorating. Since he wasn't wearing feathers and braids, all he did as he came out of the water, was to make sure his shorter and new ponytail was tight. He had set a line in the water. There was a fair size salmon on it. So he threaded a piece of wood through the head of the fish and set it to grill on the fire Mathurin had started.

"L'Indien, I like the way you fish. I have never met any Indians who didn't like swimming, but your fishing is the best," beamed Jean-Marie, fond of food.

"Are you going to call me 'L'Indien' in Quebec, or 'Nicholas'?" Mingo asked.

"Both. Either. Don't mind it. Now, if everyone's ready, let's get going," answered Jean-Marie.

Mathurin made sure the fire was out; they picked up their packs. Blankets had been rolled. Mingo had sheathed the knife given to him by Jean-Marie. Neither had been able to provide him with a rifle, but the knife was long and sharp.

They walked toward the lower city and the port under the Cap Diamant.

The trail by the St-Lawrence was well traveled; maple, poplar and birch trees were part of the lustrous hill leading to the higher city. Mathurin told him the fort had been built up on the Cap, where it was easy to defend the city. The first settlers had built their homes by the lower side of the river and they were protected by the cannons above their heads. Quebec had survived the British invasion, there was even a smaller fort with as many cannons, on the Cap Beauport , 20 miles east, facing Orleans Island.

Jean-Marie was less of a talker than Mathurin but he had a keen sense of humor. Mathurin had shared many stories since leaving Chambly. Mingo doubted that any were true and yet again, the kinship of story telling and woodmanship was a strong bond between the three new friends. Jean-Marie had given up on using "Nicholas" to acknowledge Mingo's presence in their midst. He was just "L'Indien", and that was fine for the tall Cherokee.

As they saw the first chimney's smoke, Mingo saw the church spires. So many churches for such a small population. He was told that if all the nuns and priests could have married as well, they would have easily doubled the population of the province. But again, he doubted the veracity of his friends' words.

He smiled at them, and practiced his Sign of the Cross; both his Cherokee and British blood shivered.

They were in Quebec City, facing the port. There were two majestic vessels in the port. A dozen of so Redcoats patrolled around the dozens of sailors and commoners.

Time to change identity once more for Mingo, L'Indien.

July 31, 1777

Mathurin and "L'Indien" found work on the docks, just a few hours after arriving in the city. The biggest ship, "The Gallant" had arrived that morning from the port of Liverpool. Work would last until the whole cargo was unloaded and delivered to all the proper merchants awaiting them.

Jean-Marie, reluctant to accept long hours of hard labor, managed to get himself a place with a rich settler. He preferred the work in the field.

The settler had agreed to house all three men in his barn. His wife would provide them with food, but Jean-Marie would not receive any pay. It was fine; the purpose of staying in the city was not to provide for themselves.

However, their hours were long and the work exhausting. Mingo and Mathurin ate their supper at the pub by the Notre-Dame des Victoires church. Pubs, taverns and churches were all side by side in this city.

On the pier, no one objected to working with a Métis. Mingo had seen Indians in the streets and by the farm where they slept. He had seen them enter the churches as well. Everywhere, there were patrols of British soldiers. It was difficult to find out about another Cherokee or a tall white man, without asking too many questions, and while avoiding notice themselves.

After supper, they walked the upper city streets, making sure to stay within the walls of the town. Mingo was spotted by two Ursuline nuns as he walked by their convent. As the younger one made the sign of the cross, holding on tightly to her wooden rosary, the older one came forward and addressed him boldly.

"You're an Indian, young man. Have you not been christened in the faith of our Holy Father?"

Mingo was at a loss. Mathurin made him sign every time he passed a church. He didn't know what he had done wrong to attract the nun's attention. And mostly, he didn't know how she could tell he was Indian. He was used to being acknowledged as one with his Cherokee clothes. Wearing Jean-Marie's buckskins and with shorter hair, he felt safe.

Mathurin came to his rescue. "Ma soeur, pardonnez l'Indien. He wasn't baptized that long ago and after a hard day's work, he tends to forget."

Trying to make up for the mistakes he didn't realize he had made, Mingo crossed in the wrong order, to the utter dismay of both nuns.

"Who taught you the sacraments and the rites, young Indian?" asked the older sister.

"I am sorry, Madame," began Mingo, "It has not been very long," he added, stammering, confused. One didn't call a nun "Madame" and as the words escaped him, he saw his error.

"You will both come with me to the chapel, and we will pray together for your souls. What are your names, young men?"

Mathurin hushed Mingo and said, "I'm Mathurin, and his name is Nicholas; he was christened just two months ago. His family died last winter in the northern mountains and his tribe moved on. He came to find work here. His father was the younger son of a French seigneur who decided to live in the wild."

Going native appealed as much to the simpler man as it did to the French nobles who had come for adventure or profit. Natives who adopted the white man's ways and his religion were also very common. The Jesuits and the many orders of nuns worked hard to save the natives and didn't much care for the white going natives. They could tell an Indian in a crowd, even if he had adapted and lived as a white.

That made Mingo very curious.

Mathurin and Mingo went to the Ursulines' chapel with the two sisters. Mingo found the chapel charming and plain, without the ostentatious decorum of the churches and basilicas he knew. He didn't have the heart to lie any longer to the sisters. Since he had found strong allies with the two Canadian men, he wondered if perhaps such help could be counted on from the nuns as well.

Daniel was tall, Rain Cloud was an Indian. Perhaps those sisters could help Mingo find his friends faster.

"Powerful allies, those nuns!" Mingo thought to himself, as he lay in a small room in the convent. Mathurin went back to the barn with a message for Jean-Marie. Mingo would remain with the nuns until the Americans could be found. Mathurin left with a secretive smile; he knew that the Mother Superior and her young charges would not only look for the Cherokee's friends discreetly, but they would also try to save their Indian souls. Mingo was offered tea as he shared his story with the Mother Superior, and then sent to a bedroom in the same section of the convent that priests and male relatives of the sisters used.

When Mère Marie-Jeanne found out he could read, she promptly handed him her own precious Bible, two candles, a nightshirt, a clean blanket and instructions to read a few specific verses.

Sleep was easy, his muscles were sore from the heavy loading and unloading of the 10 hour workday. Fresh air came in through the small window.

It took less than a day for a duo of sisters to spot Rain Cloud and Daniel Boone as they walked into a printer's shop, on St-Jean Street.

Sister Bernadette was sent to tell Mother Superior that two men had gone into Monsieur Légaré's printing shop while Sister Angélique remained behind to keep track of them. Monsieur Mingo had described the tall Kentuckian accurately; she had not seen such a tall man before. As for the Indian with him, he was shorter than Monsieur Mingo and was dressed in the Cherokee way.

Mother Superior gathered all the sisters, except for the the novitiates, in order to involve them in the search and rescue. While the priests and bishops had given an official order to let the British have their way in manner of reforms and laws, they also had been ordered to undermine them as often as possible. Helping Americans foil some of the plans was one of the quests that Mother Superior wholeheartedly supported. And there was the very interesting challenge of turning two heathens into new Catholics.

As Daniel left the printing shop with Rain Cloud, a sister approached him. Daniel had bought the Gazette of Quebec and a map of the province from the printer; his shop printed the weekly paper and sold books and maps. Monsieur Légaré had many books on his shelves and Daniel had looked through them – most were in French. He knew Mingo could speak the language; he didn't know if he could read it. The few books in English were mostly law or accounting. Monsieur Légaré told him of an Englishman who had established a notary office and added to his income by selling some English books. It was on Rue St-Paul, easy to find, behind the Cathedral, by the Porte St-Louis. Rain Cloud's knowledge of French had been helpful to this point. Daniel had discovered, to his astonishment, that Quebec had remained nearly completely French, despite the presence of the British. He understood better Colonel Hartford's reason for sending two French-speaking officers with him into the new British colony.

"Monsieur Fox, may I ask you something?" A nun interrupted his train of thought.

"Madame, je ne parle pas français," Daniel repeated the words taught him by McTavish faithfully.

"I speak English a little, Monsieur Fox. A friend of yours is visiting our convent, if you please," stammered the middle aged sister.

She came closer to Daniel and whispered very quietly, "Do you have a friend named Mingo?"

Daniel turned to Rain Cloud for help, "Rain Cloud, can you ask her what she knows of Mingo's whereabouts?"

Between Rain Cloud and the sister, Daniel understood that Mingo was staying with the sisters of the Ursulines convent and that he could shelter under their roof as well.

"Rain Cloud, can you tell her we have to contact McTavish before we go to their convent? What time will Mingo go back?" asked Daniel, distrustfully.

The two Americans promised to go to the delivery entrance before dusk.

Mingo and Mathurin left the dock well past seven that evening. They were dirty, smelly and sore. There was a bucket of drinking water for the dock workers, a ladle attached to a hook. Mingo liberally splashed fresh water on his face, arms, shoulders. The weather was warm , a very nice breeze was blowing gently. By the time they walked up the long winding stairways into the higher city and the nuns' convents, he was dry and feeling much cleaner.

They arrived at the delivery entrance in a small dirty alleyway, just a few moments after Daniel, Rain Cloud and McTavish.

Sister Bernadette served them hot soup and fresh bread. She had baked cinnamon buns earlier in the day after Monsieur Boone had agreed to come to the convent. The ten novitiates had been sent to the chapel, to scrub the floor and polish the wood. They didn't want any of the younger sisters to be aware of these men's presence. Daniel Boone was a wanted man, with a bounty on his head.

Mother Marie-Jeanne sat with them, looking each of them up and down. Mathurin said the benedicite. Monsieur Boone was a religious man, he bowed his head, as did the American soldier with him, even if they were not Catholics. She could accept this. But the two Indians now – she just had to bring them into the fold. Father Avila might agree to spend more money on alphabet books, if she could have those two Indians turn to the faith. They were from an American tribe, far south, where there were no orders – saving souls was Mother Marie-Jeanne's primary goal in the order, but establishing new convents was a close second.

The taller of the two Indians spoke flawless, educated French, and had impeccable manners. She had been told that he normally dressed like the other Cherokee at her table. He was wearing a disguise, he said, with a charming smile. The second Indian, shorter, quieter, ate quickly as primitives did.

"Monsieur Boone, you are the leader of this group?" inquired Mother Marie-Jeanne. She spoke no English, but McTavish promptly translated. He would, as he had in the last few days, act as interpreter.

"Madame, I am part of the mission, but I am no more the leader of it than Mingo here," Daniel said. As he looked at Mingo, he saw his old friend nod in a familiar gesture. "However, you can consider me the leader in this instance."

Mathurin nudged McTavish to tell Daniel and Mingo to address the Mother Superior as "Ma mère", and not as "Madame". McTavish relayed the message, but Mother Marie-Jeanne wasn't offended.

She wasn't listening to Daniel recapping what Mingo had told her before, nor to what had happened to his group later on. She was thinking that, while she offered protection, she could have Sister Bernadette, Sister Marianna and herself gather the two Cherokee Indians into the tiny classroom in the wing closest to the cliff. She had learned the hard way, as a young nun, that Indians disliked being in enclosed spaces. But as they needed to stay as far from the British soldiers as possible, this classroom with the fresh breeze from the St-Lawrence River could do.

If the more civilized of the two was proof enough, she could get Father Avila to perform their baptism and their first communion next week. Yes, that would do. She would get the information the Americans required, but there was no reason to get it to them quickly. Yes, two christenings next week would do just fine. Father Avila would be pleased. Perhaps, if they also foiled one more British plan, he might mention this to the bishop as well. Oh, that would do just fine! Perhaps a new extension of her convent in the lower city could be built, and the novitiates might be sent to teach at the Huron village in Cap Rouge.

Daniel hoped to gather all the information and fix things up as quickly as possible, so they could go home. Mingo was happy to see his old friend and couldn't wait to speak to him alone. Mathurin thought perhaps he could go back home; he knew the sisters and the priests – with them on their side, the Americans were safe. Rain Cloud was relieved that Mingo was safe, although the fact that Mingo looked more like a white man than a Cherokee so easily told him that Mingo needed to be reminded of his heritage once they were back in Chota.

And Mother Superior Marie-Jeanne had plans, money and two souls in her account book. Truly, Providence had been good to her with these Americans in her path.


	16. Chapter 14

Chapitre 14

August 7, 1777 

"Daniel, I have always been respectful of other people's faith. But if Mère Marie-Jeanne tries once more to get Rain Cloud or me to become Christian, and Catholic at that, I swear to you, my friend, I will burn her convent to the ground. The flames will keep her busy, and she will see me as the son of Satan and leave me alone. Do something, Daniel!" pleaded Mingo, with a heavy dose of anger in his voice.

Daniel was laughing so hard, his ribs hurt. Mère Marie-Jeanne was a formidable ally but an even more powerful enemy. Daniel thought the faith of the Quakers was unshakeable; he wondered again what a meeting of Ursulines with Quakers would bring.

Mère Marie-Jeanne had put Rain Cloud and Mingo in the same small room; both Cherokees found the lack of space stifling. Rain Cloud tried to build himself a lean-to in the garden but the Sisters had gone out buzzing like a bee hive and had put him in his place.

As the nuns walked the streets of the city, rosaries out, praying constantly, they came back to the convent with fresh news. The nuns were a font of information.

For every bit of badly needed information, the nuns had Rain Cloud sit to learn his letters. This did not bother Mingo; he knew the Ursulines had an extraordinary vocation for teaching, and he knew that whatever learning Rain Cloud retained would be useful when the Cherokee needed to deal with settlers regarding land or treaties. Mingo considered it a fair exchange.

But when Mère Marie-Jeanne insisted that both of them sit in on basic Catholicism lessons, with a few Hurons who came daily, Mingo knew the reverend mother was going too far.

Daniel calmed him down, reminding him that if the teachers of London and Oxford hadn't changed Mingo's view about the faith of his people, how could one middle-age Frenchwoman do any better?

Mingo was spared some of the lessons; he still worked on the docks with Mathurin. But when the work ended, Mingo split the money between Jean-Marie and Mathurin, and he could no longer escape the convent or Mère Marie-Jeanne.

So it was that Mingo sat for lessons on Monday and Wednesday, and under Father Avila's strict lectures on Friday. The two Cherokees were blackmailed into attending Sunday morning services as well. In Latin of all things!

Daniel realized the Cherokees' patience was reaching its limit. He asked Thomas to speak to the nun and have her let go of this special interest of hers.

A week after Mingo had been spotted by Sister Bernadette, Sister Geneviève came into the parlor where Daniel, Thomas and Mingo were having tea. Rain Cloud had managed to free himself; he was walking along the St-Charles River, with Mathurin and Jean-Marie. They wanted to go fishing.

Rain Cloud had formed a fast friendship with the two Canadians, as Mingo had. They were much alike. And they had saved Mingo's life.

Sister Geneviève was blushing with excitement, and she came directly to the table. Sister Angélique was quiet in a corner, refilling cups or plates; she nodded at the sister who shared a room with her.

"Mère a invité le capitaine de la Citadelle pour souper ce soir et il a accepté. Sister Geneviève, we must warn the kitchen to cook more meat for tonight." the sister tended to forget to speak slowly when in the presence of the Americans.

Thomas quickly translated and told them the Captain of the Citadel was coming for supper tonight at the convent. He told them that British military accepted these invitations as a show of goodwill toward the Canadians.

Daniel smiled a predatory smile. Mother Marie-Jeanne was indeed a powerful ally. Now they would use the Captain's presence for their own purposes.

Mingo frowned, and whispered in Cherokee, "Daniel, if Mère Marie-Jeanne wants me to be christened in exchange for this information, forget it! I will walk into the noose and pull the rope myself!"

Captain Philip William Doyle, of the 84th regiment, arrived sharply at six o'clock that evening. His uniform was as impeccable as he was. His manner was polite yet reserved. He rang the bell by the gate and was immediately let in by the gardener.

As soon as he was ushered inside, Mère Marie-Jeanne greeted him and waved him into the parlor.

"Capitaine, laissez-moi vous présenter un ami personnel de Madame de Bellefeuille, notre patronne de Lyon. Il est arrivé à Québec au début de l'été mais il a immédiatement quitté notre belle cité pour aller visiter l'Hotel-Dieu de Montréal et vérifier les besoins de notre ordre dans cette ville. Il est de retour depuis hier soir. Monsieur Christophe DeMaurier." Mère Marie-Jeanne introduced a patron of their order who, after having spent the summer in Montréal, had arrived in Quebec the night before.

"Monsieur, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. Mère Marie-Jeanne had mentioned the goodwill of the governor, Monsieur Carleton, and of your regiment, regarding our faith and the needs of our people." The Mother Superior's guest extended a courteous hand.

"My pleasure, sir. Is this your first time in North American, Monsieur DeMaurier?" the captain asked.

"I apologize, Captain. Monsieur DeMaurier, this is le Capitaine Philip William Doyle, of the 84th Regiment. Captain Doyle fought the American tentative invasion of last fall. He leads a militia of Canadians in Montreal." The Reverend Mother made the introduction.

"Capitaine, my compliments. I was informed of this in Montreal, by Father Marie-Michel himself. The priests in Montréal told me of the harsh winter that followed. I hope to be able to leave Quebec before the cold sets in; I have been hearing the most horrible things about winter in this city," shivered the tall Frenchman with the perfect accent.

"And the food! I tell you, I miss Lyon and the fine cooking in my home. The rudeness of the inhabitants and all those savages everywhere. I know Madame de Bellefeuille wants all these savages educated and converted, and she is spending so much of her money helping these … these .. these … " he sniffed. Monsieur DeMaurier didn't finish his sentence, waving his hands in distaste.

"And have you looked at me? I have sat in a canoe for endless days. My fine skin has burned as dark as any savage! I will tell Madame de Bellefeuille she must send someone else to do her bidding next time. These colonies are dreadful for the skin and for the body."

Captain Doyle's contempt for the Frenchman was plain. He disliked fools and fops, and this man certainly fit both descriptions.

Daniel snickered from his hiding place, behind a huge bookshelf. Mingo made a most obnoxious nobleman, French or English. Daniel didn't understand the conversation, but he had seen Mingo dress in elegant French clothing, and had cut Mingo's hair shorter himself. He knew Mingo had excellent manners. Mingo's role was to aggravate Captain Doyle as much as possible.

Now, now, Monsieur DeMaurier, your food and lodgings in Montreal were excellent. Our bishop stayed with you and enjoyed his stay. I am sure the nuns treated you very well," soothed the Reverend Mother. She was delighted to deceive Captain Doyle, but she was thrilled by the complete change in the Cherokee whom she wished to convert to the true faith. This Indian might be the one to carry the faith back to the American tribes, if only he would agree and see the light!

"If the Captain is ready, let us move into the dining room, gentlemen. Father Avila will join us later, after his evening mass," urged Mère Marie-Jeanne.

Daniel and Mingo wanted to grab and question the captain as quickly as possible but the Reverend Mother refused. Simply impossible, she said; the Catholic faith was too important to be endangered by having the British know that the the holy orders were working against them.

They would have to get their information more efficiently, she said firmly. She had a plan, and she explained it all. When Daniel heard Thomas's translation, he wholeheartedly agreed. Mingo simply nodded and closed his eyes in a silent prayer to the Creator.

Sister Geneviève and Sister Bernadette sat down at the table, entertaining both men with stories. Schooling Indians and settlers' children seemed to be a challenging endeavour. Mère Marie-Jeanne played her cards well, telling of the need of more money for books and Bibles.

Two older nuns served soup and bread. The main meal would be served when Father Avila arrived. He was a short man of deep faith. Though only in his early thirties, he was bald and his grey eyes were old.

As he arrived, both men rose and waited for the priest to sit. Sister Anne offered him some soup, which he declined. "Let us eat the main course, ma soeur," he told her.

Sister Anne and Sister Rose served the men first, then Mother Superior and the sisters. They poured some apple cider into their glasses and fresh water was available. Captain Doyle's nose wrinkled and he frowned.

"Sister Anne, have you forgotten that the Captain has never liked apple cider? Go and fetch him some Madeira from the cellar." Mother Reverend's tone was harsh toward the sister. Sister Anne knew of Captain Doyle's preference, and she had seemingly forgotten.

"Oui, ma mère. Excusez-moi Capitaine," apologized the sister, who left the room, hurrying down the cellar.

The men, the sisters and Mother ate slowly, keeping the conversation general.

Sister Anne came back with a dark bottle of cool Madeira, and she poured a glass for the Captain with her deepest apologies. When the Captain offered some to his dining companions, they refused politely, lifting their glasses of apple cider.

By the time dinner had been consumed, the Captain's pupils were dilated. His speech was slurred. He was shaking slightly. He appeared completely drunk, although he drank only one glass of the red wine.

Mingo suddenly stopped his pretense of being a foppish French noble. In his precise Oxford English, he asked the British officer bluntly, "Captain, would you share with me what you know of Henry Hartford?"

The four sisters left the room at this moment. Mother had told them that once the nice Cherokee would start to speak English and interrogate the Captain, it would be time for them to leave. They had done well by her and the Americans.

The Captain was seemingly dozing off.

Mingo turned to Mère Marie-Jeanne and asked, "Are you sure he won't remember my questions, ma mère?"

"Don't worry, Monsieur Mingo. Ask him all you want," she rose and left.

"Captain, I am going to repeat my question. What do you know of Henry Hartford?"

Ten minutes later, Mingo and Daniel, who had come inside the room to stand by his friend, were stunned.

They left the Captain to the care of Father Avila, who would make sure the Captain went back to his regiment after a hour or so of rest.

As they entered Mingo's small sleeping alcove, Daniel and Mingo were still silent and utterly astounded by the enormity of what they had learned.

The following morning, Mingo took the lead. He told everyone what they had learned.

Two days later, they left Quebec City.

Mother Marie-Jeanne was hugely disappointed that she hadn't managed to convert the two Indians. But as she watched them go toward the lower city and the trail that led to Le Chemin du Roy, she promised herself that everyone in the convent would recite ten rosaries a day for a month. The travelers would need all the protection available to make it back home; converted or not, they were good men.

**Victims of a most devious plot and treason: the failing of friendship.**

----------------------------

Translation

"Capitaine, laissez-moi vous présenter un ami personnel de Madame de Bellefeuille, notre patronne de Lyon. Il est arrivé à Québec au début de l'été mais il a immédiatement quitté notre belle cité pour aller visiter l'Hotel-Dieu de Montréal et vérifier les besoins de notre ordre dans cette ville. Il est de retour depuis hier soir. Monsieur Christophe DeMaurier." Mère Marie-Jeanne introduced a patron of their order who, after having spent the summer in Montréal, had arrived in Quebec the night before.

_(Translation : Captain, let me introduce a personal friend of Madame de Bellefeuille, our patron from Lyon. He came to Quebec earlier this summer but he immediately left our beautiful city to go and visit Montreal's Hotel-Dieu Hospital and convent. He was checking up on the requirements of our needy in that city. He got back in late last evening. Mr. Christophe DeMaurier)_


	17. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

August 14th, 1777

When Mingo explained to Mother Marie-Jeanne, Sisters Bernadette and Geneviève as well as Jean-Marie, Mathurin, Thomas and Rain Cloud, he omitted a few details. He didn't want to upset the nuns; they had been a great help. So he withheld some information on the morning after they had drugged Captain Doyle.

Now, as they neared Cap Rouge and the Huron village, Mingo sat with the Canadians around the fire they had built. Daniel and Mathurin had caught quite a few fish and were broiling them. Mingo had quickly donned his Cherokee clothes, kept in Jean-Marie's pack. His hair was too short to braid, but he had replaced his feathers. As he sat on a log, ready to eat, quiet, he looked at the group of men assembled around. He had made good friends of his traveling companions; the Canadians had saved his life and offered their help - and he had been L'Indien to them, as simply as that. McTavish had taken him at face value, no questions asked, no comments ever made.

And Daniel. Daniel, the old friend, the man who had saved his life so many times, there was no debt of honor between them. They were brothers, in a way brothers often weren't. Mingo knew that, having had one brother once, who hated him so, simply because. Daniel just came one day, saved his life and was his friend ever since.

"Penny for your thoughts, Mingo? "asked the friend he was thinking about just now.

Mingo gave Daniel a small smile and a small frown.

Daniel didn't press the issue; whatever was troubling his Cherokee friend, he would tell in due time. Whatever decision he made about Henry Hartford, was Mingo's, and Mingo's alone. Daniel would simply agree with him and go along.

The men ate, Mathurin humming softly "A la Claire Fontaine," learned in his youth.

As they prepared to return to the trail, Mingo spoke, "I have to tell you about something Captain Doyle said. If you don't mind, gentlemen."

Daniel sat back down, so did everyone else.

"So, L'Indien, tell us," pressed Jean-Marie.

"I told all of you that Captain Doyle said Henry Hartford wanted Daniel delivered to the British for the prize money and for me to hang for treason. I said Henry hated me. There is something more personal to this. I would not want to involve any of you in this, which is why we've been heading west for the last week. And why I kept silent. I realize you all want to go home, and so do I. However, I can't leave yet. And I can't ask you to stay with me. But I will tell you why I am staying," Mingo began.

The fire extinguished, warm ashes remained. Mathurin played with a stick, moving them around. McTavish, while sitting down, in buckskins, was at attention. Rain Cloud knew his friend was disturbed. Daniel had heard all; it was just a matter of Mingo addressing the issue left.

Jean-Marie laughed, "So, L'Indien, tell us, before we turn to stones. Think of Mother Marie-Jeanne, you'll speak faster perhaps."

Mingo laughed at Jean-Marie's good humor.

"It's true what I said about Henry Hartford wanting to deliver Daniel to the British. While he's a major in the British army, he has spent too much time spying, and not enough making friends in the right places. He's an ambitious one. He hoped to gain some power with Daniel's capture." Mingo stopped to look at the men around him. One Indian, two Canadians, one young Continental Army officer and Daniel - a mismatch of strong individuals.

"Bringing Daniel in for bounty was a good way to be noticed by the right officers," Mingo continued. "But there is more to Henry Hartford than just plain ambition. He was sent to England as a boy, like me, to stay with a grandfather he didn't know. His grandfather was of noble blood, highly disappointed with his daughter's choice to marry and remain in America. My father, a lord of the kingdom, was an officer in charge of a surveying team. Henry's mother married William Hartford, against her father's wishes. They had three children together, Henry was the oldest."

Mingo went on, explaining how Henry had ended up at his grandfather's estate, the earl of Christham. How the two boys had grown to play and study together; mostly at the estate of Mingo's father. They had shared the same tutors, and had helped one another to live the way of their titled parents. What Mingo had never noticed was the real transformation of Henry. While Mingo had enjoyed learning, reading, growing strong and bright, in body and intellect, there was always somewhere deep inside the knowledge of his shameful birth. Henry knew Mingo's secret but had never betrayed it. They shared laughter, Shakespeare, their first few dances and courting. They attended the same academy, helped each other with all the studying required: be it book, horsemanship, dress or etiquette.

Mingo had never forgotten his homeland, his people, his heritage; he dreamed always of going back. Henry had told him the same thing, though less and less as time passed. Mingo never noticed. Then one day, Mingo, the man, went to his father, and said good-bye. He booked passage on a ship in Liverpool. An English gentleman left Liverpool, a buckskinned man landed in Boston, and a Cherokee Indian arrived in Chota, the village of his mother and of his birth. Mingo never regretted his decision and had been happy ever since.

What Mingo learned from Captain Doyle was of a hatred that Henry had fostered for a long time. He didn't simply want Mingo hanged for treason. He wanted Mingo to admit to treason, so Henry could use the confession to blackmail Lord Dunsmore into saving Henry's grandfather's estate from being sold. Henry wanted it all back. He wanted the title that wasn't his. And he had formed a deep hate for Mingo, who had the right to a title, but who had refused it.

Henry hated the man who turned down a title and as much as he liked the child Mingo had been.

Henry would blackmail Lord Dunsmore, and hunt Mingo. It would not end until one of them was dead.

Mingo would remain behind. Henry Hartford was due in Quebec in less that a week.

Jean-Marie laughed again, "I can't believe Mon Indien is one of them English uppity lords! Well, if you think I'm going to let you have all that fun alone, you're wrong. I'm sticking by your side, L'Indien."

Mingo searched everyone's eyes, Daniel's last. They were all laughing with Jean-Marie.

No one was leaving Quebec.

No one wanted to go anywhere near a convent. Even if they had been a great help, the nuns had exceeded all of the Cherokees' patience. Rain Cloud, Thomas and Jean-Marie went west toward Cap Rouge. They planned to lodge with the Huron. Mingo, Daniel and Mathurin headed back to Quebec. They made a camp just two days walk from the Plain of Abraham. Instead of following the St. Lawrence River trail, they would go by Ste. Foy.

They knew Henry would arrive at the Citadel within a week with a small division of militia. Mingo knew why Henry hadn't pursued him after his escape from Fort Chambly – Henry knew where the Cherokee would head. Since Mingo hadn't signed the confession, Henry would still want it signed and sealed.

Mingo wanted to seize Henry before he reached the Citadel, and take him to Trois-Rivières where Willie Ferguson would be waiting. If Willie had made the proper contacts, it would be possible to return Henry to the new United States where he could himself be tried for treason. Even though he was a Continental Army officer, Henry had betrayed his father's trust, created the renegade tribe, and set the trap for Daniel and Mingo.

August 20th, dawn

Daniel and Mingo went no further than their camp at the edge of the Ste-Foy village. Rain Cloud and Jean-Marie ventured east a few times, making sure to stay on friendly terms with the Huron. Sometimes Jean-Marie stayed with Daniel and Mingo at their camp, entertaining them with local history and more tall tales.

It was decided that Thomas and Mathurin should head toward Trois-Rivières. If anything were to happen to Daniel or Mingo, at least the truth would be known.

As Daniel grew fidgety, Mingo persuaded him to stay in the camp. The summer was hot and humid, though their camp was situated high above a cliff. From a vantage point, they could see both the St. Charles and the St. Lawrence rivers. Most days, Mingo sat under a huge, shady maple tree staring at the water and the trail below – waiting for Henry to arrive.

Mingo was familiar with Henry's vanity; he expected him to arrive with a fair-sized militia of uniformed Redcoats, who would be hard to miss. He asked Daniel to figure out how to capture Henry and escape from the regiment who were sure to pursue them. Daniel wasn't fooled. He grew more restive, and nothing Mingo or Jean-Marie said pacified him.

The days grew longer. The sun was hotter. The water was inviting. Since Daniel had the morning watch, Mingo did a great deal of swimming or fishing with Rain Cloud.

It was now the middle of the week, the sky fresh and blue and Mingo was ready for his morning swim, when Daniel called, "Mingo, hold off on that swim, and come here!"

Four very large canoes were arriving in the middle of the St-Lawrence. Although, they couldn't distinguish anyone in the canoes, there were definitely people wearing red.

Mingo whistled a bird call and Jean-Marie and Rain Cloud quietly came to join the two friends on their lookout point.

"Four canoes, at least 20 people. Could be our men, L'Indien," Jean-Marie said, hopefully.

Daniel was ready for action. They waited until the canoers came nearer.

There were four privates, 14 Canadian militia, and another officer as they watched. To everyone's surprise, the canoes pulled up less than two miles from the port. Henry dismissed the militia, ordering them to return for him in two days. The privates were sent to the Citadel on foot. Rain Cloud and Jean-Marie followed them quietly, and dispatched them. Henry and the other officer remained alone, making camp and resting.

It looked much too easy.

Daniel was cautious and curious. Why had Henry dismissed his militia?

Daniel told Mingo to stand guard, that he would follow them.

Mingo quickly put a stop to this, "Daniel, you're not going to understand a word they say if they are Canadians and not British. I will follow them and you will stand guard."

Daniel understood his friend's reasoning, even if he was miffed at Mingo for taking charge. He stayed behind while the Cherokee quietly followed them.

Mingo came back hours later.

"My old friend is going visiting tomorrow morning. That is why he didn't go straight to the port. He has a rendezvous with a lady friend. He'll leave alone in the morning, climbing this hill, straight into our arms."

"Do you mean to tell me he'll leave his fellow officer for two whole days here alone? And that no one will expect him back until Friday?" asked Daniel. His predatory smile was contagious.

"Exactly," said Mingo. "We can seize him in the morning, and take him with us. We'll have a good lead before they realize he's missing."

Rain Cloud and Jean-Marie came back reporting that the soldiers would not arrive at the Citadel either. The four men got their packs ready. As soon as they had Henry Hartford, they would head for the Huron village and the canoe the chief had promised them. They would be in Trois-Rivières under the protection of the officers and soldiers Willie Ferguson had organized before anyone realized that Major Henry Hartford, British turncoat, was missing.


	18. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

August 24th, Sorel Islands, midday meal.

"Father, you must let me go. If I am returned to Philadelphia, I will hang. You have to let me go!" Henry Hartford pleaded yet again.

Daniel and Mingo canoed hard to reach Trois-Rivières in only a day and a half. Rain Cloud and Jean-Marie took the slack some of the time, but mostly they kept watch for British followers. Henry was tied, gagged with a bandana, thrown in the bottom of the Huron canoe.

Mingo had watched Henry's climb three days before. He let him walk for about 20 minutes and then used the handle of his knife to knock him out. Mingo carried him back to camp on his shoulder, refusing anyone's help.

His friends understood.

Rain Cloud built a sturdy travois to carry the unconscious officer to Cap Rouge. He let the white men carry it, following behind them erasing any tracks. Mingo hurried ahead.

As soon as they reached Trois-Rivières, they found Mathurin on guard duty on the small dock. He quickly brought them to a cabin nearby.

Thomas and Colonel Hartford, alongside a dozen or so American patriots, were waiting. Colonel Hartford's face was impassive as his son was delivered to him. Not a word left his mouth. He refused to acknowledge anything his son said.

They left immediately, in six small canoes. The rapids at Sorel were risky, and everyone knew there would be a long, dangerous trek before they were safely home.

There was no friendly contact in Sorel. They did not bother to make camp, simply cooked some fish and took a few precious moments to eat.

Mingo rose and gagged Henry again. Henry had eaten and drunk enough to last him awhile. Mingo and Henry did not exchange a word. Not even a glance passed between them. It was as if Henry was unknown to Mingo. Daniel made no comment, for he knew that under the mask of calm control Mingo showed the world, his Cherokee friend was deeply troubled.

As Mingo lifted his long arms above his head to stretch sore muscles, his eyes met Colonel Hartford's stare. Mingo saw deception and sadness, treason and betrayal. The Colonel looked at Mingo severely. This Indian was half-white. He was half-British. He was the heir to a title and land in England, yet he had turned his back on it. In a strange way, he was also a traitor. He also betrayed his father's beliefs and values, discarding them. The Colonel wondered if it had it been easy for this Indian to throw away such a legacy, to turn his back on his father.

The Colonel looked at his own son: he had sent him alone as a child to England, a child who would never see or kiss his mother ever again, in order to receive a fine education and be the best American possible. He allowed Henry to be guided by a man who had shown him a legacy and Henry had been blinded by this legacy.

How could two men, raised almost together, with the same values, turn out so differently? Both turned their backs on their fathers. Both had taken root and heart in their mothers' legacy instead.

He would see his son hang for treason.

And his heart bled for it.


	19. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

September 16, 1777

Somewhere in Michigan

As they hurried home, Daniel, Mingo, Rain Cloud, and the American officers had gone to extremes. Avoiding British patrols and militia, while making certain Jean-Marie and Mathurin made it home safely, away from reprisals, had taken its toll on all of them.

When they finally reached American territory, Mingo asked Willie to sit with him and make a list of his victims. Mingo worried about the cabin he had burned and how the family had managed after the renegades' departure. Daniel talked Mingo out of approaching his victims. It was better to let the American soldiers make reparations.

The renegades had been captured by the Continental Army.

Mingo was concerned about the children. "Colonel Hartford, what will become of the squaws and children living with the renegades? They should learn of their heritage; they should not bear the shame of their fathers. They should be taught to be proud of being Indians."

Colonel Hartford was able to reassure him, "The children are living with white settlers until they can be resettled with a Choctaw village near the settlement. They are well. Our only concern was to keep them safe."

"No harm done, Captain. These children have a lot to recover from but an Indian heritage is something to be proud of" Mingo said quietly.

Daniel smiled. Daniel knew the deep conviction Mingo had that Indian children should be raised as Indians. He wondered if Mingo would ever share London and England with him. If one day, he would completely understand his friend's pain and loss. If the life Mingo led now was truly enough for him.

They graciously accepted a three dayrest at the small fort. It had been an exhausting escape, with little sleep. Henry was always under tight guard and bound. Neither his father or Mingo went near him. The Colonel had sent orderlies ahead with papers and orders to protect Mingo at all cost and to absolve him from all blame. He made sure compensation would be made to all of Mingo's victims.

Rain Cloud and Mingo had grown quite fond of their two Canadian friends, and regretted parting from them so soon.

Daniel told the Canadians and both Cherokees they would come back and hunt with them in a few seasons. He might even bring Israel with them, his son loved exploring.

They would head home, in two days. Mingo and Rain Cloud had gone fishing together. The Americans soldiers would provide them with provisions. Colonel Hartford even offered men to go with them, which they declined.

Still, for the three Kentuckians, it was a trip they were looking forward to. They needed a reunion with their loved ones.

Rain Cloud told Daniel in secrecy that he intended to have a white-blood cleansing for Mingo as soon as they got to Chota. Would Daniel come and attend it as was his right and duty as his white brother? Daniel knew exactly what Rain Cloud meant. Daniel would go to Chota, and have his white blood cleansed with Mingo.

It was his duty. He would perform it with much laughter.


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

October 2nd, 1777 - The Boones' Cabin, Supper time

The wind rustled leaves outside, colorful leaves that would finish their life cycles enriching soil that would feed generations of children yet unborn. The chimney was smoking away, one window of the cabin was open, its curtain enjoying the breeze.

Inside, Daniel sat at the head of his table, surrounded by his loved ones. His wife sat at the other end, smiling as she urged to everyone to take more food; his daughter and son, side by side, on his right, elbows rubbing, and on his left, his friend Mingo, quiet as always.

Rain Cloud had come ahead, early this morning, while Daniel and Mingo stayed behind, about 2 hours away. Mingo was a hunted man. Rain Cloud told Rebecca that her husband and Mingo were coming home.

Daniel took no chance, and asked Mingo to disarm. When they came within sight of the cabin, Daniel lifted his rifle, ready to protect the Cherokee.

Israel was outside on the porch and saw them coming first.

Daniel smiled and called to him; but his son didn't make a move toward him. Daniel looked at Mingo, nodded and waved him ahead, while he stood his ground, guarding the Indian's back.

It had been awkward. Daniel watched them from afar, his son refusing to go to Mingo, and Mingo trying to talk quietly to the upset child. The Cherokee lowered himself to one knee, to be at eye level with Israel. It made Daniel feel a little better that Israel hadn't run away, or refused to listen. He had no idea what Mingo told him; he didn't know how long he should leave them alone.

His wife came out of the cabin and took the decision away from him. She went straight to Mingo, smiling, extending her hand and offering her cheek. Mingo seemed embarrassed, but , he took her hand in both of his, and then, surprising even Daniel, embraced her tightly to his chest. It was the breaking point.

Israel started to scream, to rage and to hit Mingo with his small fists.

Daniel walked the few steps away from his porch and tried to grab his child. Israel had tears streaming, hitting Mingo randomly, pounding his broken heart into his anger.

Rebecca came to Mingo's rescue, but in the end, it was Jemima who ended up the strange welcome party. She came walking out of the fields, with a huge smile as she saw her father and Mingo.

Daniel saw her first, she came to him and he lifted her up, swirling her skirts in the breeze as he held her in his arms. He had left her behind, a small hurt girl. As he let her go, she looked up at Mingo and walked straight into his arms.

They hugged for what seemed an eternity, not letting go of each other.

And Israel, at last, spoke to his father's friend, asking him for a moment together, "man to man".

Daniel told them to go no farther than the back shed, and handed Mingo back his rifle.

Child and Indian remained together for nearly an hour. What was said and exchanged would remain between them. Daniel found out only one thing when Mingo asked to be allowed to take Israel away with him for a week. Daniel and Rebecca exchanged a look, Rebecca spoken their agreement.

Jemima and Rebecca made a welcoming feast for the two friends. Rain Cloud had only stayed long enough to share the news of their return; he was anxious to reunite with his family. Rain Cloud would organize the coming home celebration and the feast of the white blood cleansing at Chota.

It was as Jemima served tea with cookies after the meal, that Mingo spoke at last. He ate in silence; Israel's endless questions were answered only by Daniel.

"Daniel, why is it that you have accepted me as I am, a half-breed Cherokee, with a British upbringing, living the life of a Cherokee, with its traditions and customs? Why is it that Rain Cloud, like most of my Cherokee brothers welcomed me back in the tribe years ago, despite my white blood and my mixed heritage? And that Henry Hartford, who knew me growing up into adulthood and whom I thought a true friend, could not accept who I wanted and chose to be? Is friendship so hard?"

Daniel said nothing.

What was there to say? When friendship dies, who can understand the whys and the hows?

All Daniel knew is that he could not ask for a better friend, in this proud Cherokee man.

Trust.

The End.


	21. Author's notes

Author's notes : This story "When Friendship Dies" came to me from one sentence that nagged me endlessly.

The sentence was "What would it take Mingo for you to break off our friendship".

I started to write in a notebook all kind of ideas. And "Telling of the Tale" was born but I had not acknowlege my sentence and most of my ideas.

A lot of the history of Quebec, Deschambeau, Sorel Islands, Fort Chambly, Plains of Abrahams, Les Ursulines, their hospitals, their schools, the port of Quebec, are factuals.

I created the characters Mathurin and Jean-Marie, based on legends and family histories. I am a descendant of the early colony. It's easy to think that my ancestors, fourth of fifth generations after their arrival by 1777, would have been working the docks, the stores, or working the land by then and have the created characters or Daniel or Mingo walked by them.

I put many hours in this story. Paula Davis spent many hours on this. She challenged me. Susie Coffman did too. There are changes in there that are them.

The plots are all mine, I would not want your sensitivities thinking they have anything to do with it. I know the prologue challenged people view on the tv show. I know a show that kills people on a weekly basic, even in comedy episode, should not be considered family oriented, least violence is what one think family ought to learn. I know I am very open about my view about violence. I dislike the double standard. Family oriented and violence (killing) should not go hand-in-hand.

I come from a slightly different culture, I speak a different language, I have a different upbringing for many different reasons. I don't object to violence in this show. But I object to having the situation I created as being challenging the values of a show , which I repeated, kills people on a weekly basic. It's a wrong standard in my book and I have been judged guilty of being "wrong" to the family values of the show. I have kept all that is good and that I like and enjoy about the show. I have up the stakes to what the time period 1777 was. I used my 2007, Quebec, free of mind, conscience to write this.

I poured my heart, my soul, my love of the show, my love of Mingo, my respect for Daniel and his family in this story.

Paula and Susie have been supporting and helpful. My English is not up to par. The task of writing this story was a learning experience. I have been burned. I also learned a great deal.

I could only dare to hope that the story could be read its in entirely. I don't think I am a good writer. I think I am a decent writer. And I enjoy the process and I like Mingo a lot.

I am still writing. And I will still write with a 2007 sensitivity to events happening in 1777.

Johanne Brière, 30 juin 2007.

Email : jojoannsympatico.ca.

Not hiding ever from my views and opinions.


End file.
